


Walking Back Home In The Mud

by bottledbliss



Category: The Punisher (TV 2017)
Genre: Angst and Romance, Blood and Violence, Canon Compliant, Canon-Typical Violence, Drama & Romance, F/M, Fluff, Romance, Slow Burn, kastle - Freeform, really slow burn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-25
Updated: 2019-04-20
Packaged: 2019-11-05 05:13:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 17
Words: 52,849
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17912645
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bottledbliss/pseuds/bottledbliss
Summary: Frank has told Karen to walk away again and again but doesn't handle it so well when she decides to actually listen to him.





	1. No looking back

It didn’t hurt when he started telling her about the dream. Not in a jealous, cheap way at least. It was a different sort of pain, caused by the inability to wipe this anguish off Frank’s heart as easily as she could wipe away his tears. Karen knew the only thing she could do was listen to him, hoping that talking about it might make it just a tiny bit better for him. So she listened like it didn’t hurt at all, like her heart wasn’t breaking for him. She held his hand in both of her own, knew that he didn’t understand exactly what that meant, not at the time, but put more pressure on it, if only to remind him that he’s not alone. Especially when he thought he was a monster, Karen needed to remind him there was a good man under all those cuts and bruises without letting it hurt her. Folding your own pain neatly and putting it away seems easy to do when love is involved. But that word was forbidden.

It hurt more when he told her he deserved to die and though she wanted to argue, she couldn’t seem to think of the right words, as his thumb rubbed anxiously up and down her finger, focusing his gaze on their hands as though that might be enough to keep him holding on for a while. It was the fact that he wouldn’t believe her no matter what she came up with that hurt, that she couldn’t reach and pull him out of the fog because he was already settled there. But to hell with sitting tight and waiting for proof to magically drop in their lap; she needed to find a way to shed a little light on Frank’s specific kind of darkness. The pain went away as soon as she started thinking of how that could be achieved.

What hurt even more was that as soon as he saw a chance at freedom, Frank used Matt’s name as a way to get rid of her. Like anybody was going to tell Karen what to do. It was stupid, if she wanted Matt she could have had him by now, didn’t he understand that? Perhaps he thought her and Matt were already an item, that she’d snuck out behind her boyfriend’s back to come and see him. What. An. Idiot. It hurt when he told her she had to walk away but she allowed him to believe that what he was saying was somehow a valid option. He wouldn’t have listened to her anyway. He wasn’t listening to anything she was saying. Didn’t matter how many alternatives she offered, he wouldn’t even consider them. And he had the nerve to call _her_ stubborn.

“You could choose to love someone else instead of another war.” _After you’re done with this_ , she’d meant. _You can choose me. After_. She was sure he understood, there was no way he could be that blind.

What hurt the most was him saying “I don’t want to”. It almost broke her. She shook her head, hated him for lying right to her face but she wasn’t entirely sure that he was lying either, and it hurt, it hurt to have this uncertainty forced on her, like his eyes were not begging her to stay when his mouth told her to run. She could have punched him right then and there, if he wasn’t so banged up already. She undid the other handcuff, the last thing obliging him to stay, feeling fed up, so done with his melodramatic bullshit. True to form, Frank asked her to wait the moment she turned her back to him. He sure seemed eager to keep her around, for a man who’d just told her he didn’t want her.

It wasn’t so much the rejection that got to her. She knew what she brought to the table and her confidence couldn’t be shaken so easily. It was the fact that he was fighting with himself over it and it was only a matter of time before the stronger emotion would win. Knowing well enough how strong grief is, she’d wondered if Frank had a sufficient amount of affection in him to counter it. And she’d seen it, when that girl was almost choked to death before him, it was there. Only, maybe, it wasn’t reserved for her. Karen decided to give him one last chance, give herself one last chance. She’d done this once before, told him he’d be dead to her and she’d been unable to keep that promise. But it was for real this time. Maybe the timing was off, what with the price on his head and all, but maybe it was all the more important for him to make up his goddamn mind because of that.

 _Make it mean something_.

For a few exquisite moments, Frank looked like he might do it, sizing her up like he was choosing which part of hers to devour first, but when he opened his mouth to speak, it was only to confirm that he would be leaving without her and the way he said it, Karen knew this decision couldn’t be disputed. It almost sounded like a permanent goodbye. But he wasn’t happy to do it, that much was obvious and she put up her hands to stop him, to buy some time. Got him to pause. She dared to hope that he might lean into her, even just for a few seconds, wanting to feel his skin against hers. How could something so miniscule be so exciting? How was it possible for him to deny he felt the same when she could feel the world fall apart when he looked at her? She’d barely touched his arm before they were interrupted. Frank failed to say anything else afterwards, didn’t even throw a glance in her direction while she was getting ready to exit the hospital room. It was about time Karen did some of the walking away herself because she was tired of looking at his back as he walked away.

And she was angry. She was so damn angry and hurt and resentful that her bare feet didn’t even bother her and she was almost glad she had to break the glass to trigger the fire alarm, because she just wanted something other than her heart to break.

Why did it always have to be so difficult? She understood how complex things were and not just with Frank Castle; with life in general. She’d given up on the notion of simplicity a long time ago, too busy with living to obsess over things that didn't really matter. But Frank was a different animal, too focused on chewing off his own foot to realize the trap had been undone. And he just remained there, torturing himself over and over like the world was in urgent need of yet another martyr. Honestly, she’d had enough of martyrs.

That was it, she thought the last few steps until she was outside. The fire alarm was still ringing in her ears even after she’d put enough distance between the building and herself. It felt like the whole world was on fire. Her eyes weren’t watering, no, that would be foolish, wouldn’t it? She wished him luck, all the luck in the world, wished him well, wished him peace but she told herself she shouldn’t look back.

She wouldn’t look back.

_Don’t look back._

_Don’t._      

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welcome to a fic where I don't actually torture the characters!


	2. Looking back

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A look at Frank's perspective before the actual plot takes over.

Frank was so glad she was still there when he woke up, freaked out by his recurring nightmare. And her hand was close, so close and if he’d been in a different state of mind, perhaps he wouldn’t have reached for it but he did, his fingers crawling in her direction in the most pathetic way. He was a little surprised when she held it in her own like it was simply a thing they did now, holding hands. Like it was nothing. Like he hadn’t turned into one of the monsters he’d been fighting. He kept stealing glances at her hands, feeling like a worshipper allowed to touch a deity and hoping that his filth wasn’t rubbing off on her.

He had told her about his family before so it didn’t make much sense to him why he paused, searching her face for a sign of permission, before he explained what the dream had been about. All Karen did was listen. She listened to him like he mattered. Sometimes it was enough to make him believe he did. She listened to him saying how he’d wanted to be with his family and smiled. Goddamn it, why did she have to smile like that, all soothing, though she was biting back tears? It made him feel better when what he wanted to do was wallow in guilt.

_Now I’m the monster_.

Karen stared him down as though he was talking nonsense. Her pale face was a mask of warning; she was about to tell him the opposite, that she knew him and that he wasn’t a monster at all but he couldn’t take it. Frank knew her too and he knew exactly how to break that mask, make her realize she was wasting her time. He watched her face falling as he told her he deserved to die, he took pleasure in it. But he didn’t let go of her hand and she didn’t try to pull away either. Maybe she should have. Instead of wrapping her fingers around it tighter, she should have given up, even if he didn’t really want her to. All he could do was keep staring in disbelief as Karen refused to ease her grasp on him.

He didn’t expect Amy, dressed in a nurse’s uniform, to come barging in. Given more time, he could have convinced Karen to walk away from all this –or at least he could have tried- but it was useless now. The kid was giving her something to investigate and though Karen might have fled the scene of heartbreak, she could never steer clear of sleuthing –or of trying to help. How could he keep her safe if she was always looking for trouble? Like worrying about Amy wasn’t enough.

Madani should have helped him get them out of there immediately but after Billy called, her priorities shifted. Frank was aware of Karen’s rapid breathing as Billy taunted him. He didn’t want to have to deal with her concern while that spiteful voice twisted his guts. He had to admit defeat though; Russo was right about everything and he couldn’t lift a finger to change that. Maybe that bastard would finally be satisfied and let him be. Karen’s eyes never left his face, he could feel it. He had to turn away his head or he might be tempted to search her eyes for comfort again, a luxury he couldn’t afford.

If Madani had half a brain, she’d take care of the kid and make sure Karen didn’t come close to him again. He wasn’t sure he could trust her with that, seeing as she was almost as insane as him, but a man could hope. Homeland Security should be able to keep a kid safe, give her a new identity, hide her away somewhere. As for Karen… Karen didn’t know what the word safety meant. But she would at least be safe from him. It hurt him to think that. He added it to the long list of things that hurt and dove deeper into depression.

The Irish man didn’t realize what kind of gift he was offering. Frank watched his smirk and wondered if he could even conceive how welcome the concept of dying was to him. How easily given, that thing he’d gone through so much trouble to find. He didn’t know what came after and he didn’t care; hell would be an improvement compared to this. Frank presented his arm willingly. And Amy’s interference messed things up for the second time that day. If nothing else, it snapped him back to reality, where there was no rest for the wicked. Where he couldn’t die before ensuring her safety. Handcuffs, the specific handcuffs holding him into place, suddenly became the thing he despised the most. He twisted and jerked against them, shouting at the man to stop over and over, helpless to do anything but watch the struggle, until Madani came to the rescue.

Karen and Dinah confused him by saying he hadn’t killed those women. What they told him somehow made sense but he couldn’t switch between believing he was a monster and believing he wasn’t one in a split second. It would take a bit of time to absorb the information and maybe a little bit more to accept it. But he was ready to go. Throw himself into the fight again, if only for Amy’s sake. He didn’t care much about the noise Madani was making but when Karen raised her voice, that was a sound that couldn’t be ignored. It took one look at her to know he was in trouble and he just stared back like a nervous boy. He knew that was how it would seem to the others because that was exactly how he felt.

He asked for privacy, admiring himself for the audacity and as soon as the other two had left, he threw Murdock’s name in Karen’s face. If nothing else could make her leave, maybe the thought of her sweetheart would. Frank didn’t know if she’d gone back to him but if she hadn’t, this turn of events might make her reconsider. Red was a sanctimonious, self-righteous little jerk but he was a good man and way better at keeping his people safe than Frank had ever been. And he was a pretty boy too, a better match for her beauty than-

_No. Don’t even think about it_.   

She almost looked like she was done with him as she unlocked the handcuffs but there was something still protesting inside her, that much he could see, even though she didn’t meet his eyes when she stood over him. She couldn’t screw up her life for his sake, he told her, he had to say it out loud so he could hear it too. And still she insisted, urging him to understand the unspoken things. They were unspoken for a reason. No cozy ending. No light at the end of the road. He couldn’t believe that. Didn’t have the right to yearn for it, even as she confronted him, ready to give him all the things he hadn’t asked for. He only needed to nod, wouldn’t even have to speak.

“You can choose to love someone else instead of another war.”

There it was. He’d been afraid of hearing this. Because the moment she said it, he stopped caring about anything else. Amy, Russo, the whole damn world could fall to ruins and he’d only have Karen on his mind. She was close, so close, he could just reach out and touch her and everything else would end. He had to lie.

_I don’t want to._

All she had for him was disappointment and when she turned her back to him, Frank felt miserable. She would go, she was ready. But he didn’t want her to go, even though it was his doing. If he was any other man, he would have asked her to wait, he’d say he had changed his mind and things could have been different. In a parallel universe, maybe, another Frank Castle told another Karen Page that he wanted her more than anything. In this universe, this Frank Castle had failed.

Karen made one final effort. He saw it for what it was, final, no more, this would be it. He observed her carefully, the relaxed posture, the certainty of her feelings, the complete lack of fear. The beautiful fool who could get herself killed because she happened to fall in love with a maniac. Her soft sigh melted his heart. But he had to walk out of there and into more bloodshed; he couldn’t drag her down with him. When her hand flew up to his arm, it caused something to stir inside him; he could crash into her, crush her, crush himself and burn until there was nothing but cinders left. He was scared of how much he wanted it. But, for the third time, Amy came in and interrupted them, bringing up the matter of his escape.

He didn’t look back at Karen when she left. For all his efforts to drive her away, he couldn’t bear to see her go, gritting his teeth to keep from weeping. He was so used to being the one walking away. It was easier. As Madani helped him out of the building, he kept looking over his shoulder, hoping that he’d see her coming back to him, even though that wasn’t the plan and she should already be gone. He tried to convince himself that he was just checking for anything suspicious but the only suspicious thing was how many times he checked.

After all this was over, Frank would have to come to terms with never seeing Karen Page again. But for the time being, he could look back one more time.

_One more time._

_Just one more time._


	3. From now on

The first thing Karen had done when she returned home after helping Frank escape was put the flowers away. She couldn’t bring herself to throw them out but made sure they couldn’t be seen from the window anymore. It was okay, she wouldn’t be using them as a signal again and they were part of the decor and, anyway, a woman is allowed to have flowers in her apartment. They livened up the place. It had seemed like the sensible thing to do back then but four months later, she was struggling to come up with a reason why she should keep them, besides the fact that she was simply used to looking at them.

During those months, the numbers making her phone buzz had only been familiar ones, there hadn’t been any strange shadows following her down the street and no homeless person calling her by name. She would have been worried for Frank, if reports on the Punisher and his various activities had stopped. But they hadn’t. Even the ones who couldn’t verify the identity of the perpetrator screamed his name, to her at least. Alright, she was a little bit worried for Frank but not in the way she used to be, ready to walk through fire to help him. He’d made his choice and Karen had made hers. Throwing a last, inattentive glance at the flowers, she picks up her bag and leaves for work.

Running a law firm was hard enough on its own and basing it in the same space as Nelson’s Meats didn’t make it any easier. Sometimes they had to convince potential clients that they were serious and capable lawyers, despite the smell of ham leaking into their office. Sometimes, they succeeded. Business wasn’t booming but it was going well and they were all satisfied with the results. Foggy had even stopped obsessing over money, undoubtedly a good sign.

Karen moves to her desk, turning on the computer before she’s even sat down and looking over their tasks for the day. It isn’t going to be hectic but she has lots of things to do. Their first appointment is with one Tom Rayner concerning a breach of contract, a pretty straightforward case. He isn’t going to be in for another half hour so Karen turns on the coffee maker, waiting for her partners to arrive, hopefully sooner rather than later. A shuffling noise accompanied by a low grunt comes from Matt’s office, drawing her attention and she approaches the door, knocking once. “Everything okay in there?”

“Yes, just a bit sore,” Matt groans. “I’ll be right out.”

When he finally opens the door, he looks absolutely disheveled. Karen sighs as she tries to get his hair to settle down. “You have to stop sleeping here,” she says, grabbing a small make-up case from her bag. There is a bruise under his eye and she has hope it can be hidden easily. “I don’t care how comfortable you claim this couch is.”

He winces as she taps her finger over the bruise. “I was too tired to get home,” he explains.

“No bleeding?” Karen asks with an obvious tone of concern.

“No bleeding,” Matt confirms, nodding as the corner of his lip twitches slightly upwards.

“Good boy,” she says and pats his arm before putting the make-up case back in her bag. “Coffee?”

“Sure, thanks.”

Karen puts a mug of sweet-smelling coffee in his hand, pours some for herself and sits down behind her desk. “Rayner will be arriving in about twenty minutes. Can you handle it?”

“Definitely,” he says and then, in a lower voice “Can I talk to you about something?”

A cloud of suspicion descends on Karen’s face. “What did you do now?” she asks and Matt chuckles awkwardly.

“It’s not about me,” he says. “It’s about Frank.”

Karen’s heart starts beating faster at the mention of his name. “Is he dead?”

Matt hurries to her side, rushing to reassure her. “No, nothing like that.”

She lets out a sharp breath and tries to calm down. “Then I don’t need to know,” she says, turning her attention back to her computer, pretending she can’t hear her pulse thumping in her ears.

“I’m not trying to drag you into anything. I was just wondering if you had a way of contacting him,” he presses.

Karen does have a way of contacting him. Though it’s a stupid way, it has worked perfectly in the past, but she will cut off both her hands before she places the flowers on her window sill again. “Nope,” she replies casually. “I’m sure you could find him easily, seeing as you are both lurkers.”

“He…” Matt pauses. “He’s taking special care to avoid me. But I need to talk to him, Karen. It’s important.”

Of course she wants to ask why it’s so important, of course she is concerned, of course. But if she asks, there will be no turning back. “I can’t promise it’ll work but you can try putting white flowers in your window,” she tells him.  

“White flowers?” his face wrinkles in puzzlement.

“That’s all I got for you. Now go and make yourself presentable before our client comes in,” Karen dismisses him and he shuffles off without a word.

Tom Rayner is early, shyly entering the office five minutes later and Karen stands up to greet him. Her first thought is that he smells nice, clean and fresh and not at all like ham. She offers him coffee, he refuses and she asks him if he wouldn’t mind waiting a bit, to which he responds by taking a seat, with a smile on his face. Karen smiles back before she can stop herself.

“Odd choice of building for a law firm,” he remarks.

“We’re paid in chickens sometimes, so it’s a convenient partnership,” she tells him. He laughs and laughs and laughs and the sound is so heartwarming that Karen stares at him in amazement, observing his long fingers as his hands settle on his stomach, his soft blue eyes, not darkened by pain or malice, and she feels something that seems like desire. She almost asks Matt not to take him away when he opens the door and ushers Tom into his office.   

Afterwards, when the meeting is over, she notes Tom Rayner sticking around to shake her hand, putting slightly more pressure on it than what’s expected of casual gestures and holding her gaze in a way that can’t be professional. “I’m sorry, I didn’t get your name before.”

“Karen Page,” she says, matching the pressure of his hand.

“What are you doing when you’re not working over Nelson’s Meats, Karen Page?” he asks.

“I’m working at home,” she chuckles.

“All work and no play, that’s just terrible.”

“I don’t have time to play,” Karen replies kindly.

“Well, perhaps you could give me a call when you do have time,” Tom says, handing her a card with his number.

“I couldn’t. You’re a client,” Karen fumbles for words as she plays with the card in her hands.

“Until you win my case. Then I’ll be up for grabs,” he gives her a charming smile.

“How do you know we’ll win?” she laughs.

“You deal in chickens. You have my trust,” Tom laughs back before closing the door behind him.

Matt clears his throat, reminding Karen of his presence. Her cheeks flush with embarrassment when she realizes he’s been standing there the whole time. “He seems nice,” Matt tells her.

“Lurker,” Karen grumbles.

***

Tom Rayner is nice, in general, but he is nice to her too, which is a killer combination. He is charming and generous and funny and creative. He kisses her like her lips are the most delectable treat and his hands are careful and delicate on her skin. Their relationship is comfortable and lacking risks. It isn’t that Karen wants to add the factor of risk to her life, far from it. But she wonders how long this can last sometimes. She cares deeply for Tom, he’s a good man, he is good to her and she is good to him, it’s easy. He says what he means and means what he says and she never has to interpret his moods. But love- love isn’t there. It hasn’t showed its face yet, no matter how lovable her boyfriend is. _Love can grow_ , she reminds herself every now and then, _give it time_.

Tom Rayner is nice, Frank finally concurs as he watches the couple laugh in Karen’s living room through the scope of his sniper riffle. He’d looked into the man, rationalizing his actions by pretending he was simply making sure Karen wouldn’t be in any danger associating with him. The fact that he was clean didn’t mean he was decent; but he was, he was goddamn perfect, even Frank could see that. Watching her laugh like that makes his heart jump up to his throat and then sink back down to his stomach. From a distance, Karen looks perfectly happy, settled into her cozy routine, moving on with her life. Good, he thinks. But when he goes back to hunting down criminals, he catches himself being more violent than usual. More violent than necessary. 

It takes him about a week before he’s able to climb up to the roof of the apartment building across from Karen’s again. Just making sure she’s still safe, he tells himself. Nothing weird about that. She’s alone this time, talking on her phone. Frank misses the sound of her voice. He hasn’t heard it in months and its absence is burning a hole through his chest. If only he could give her a call, ask how she’s been doing, like friends do. But he isn’t sure they’re even friends anymore. He closes his eyes for a moment and takes a deep breath. When he opens them again, Karen is opening the door to a new guy, new face, and giving him a quick hug before putting on a jacket and following him outside. Frank stays put as darkness falls in her apartment. He’s not going to follow her; he owes her that much.

His patrol is slow and uneventful, which only makes him more restless. His thoughts have been turning to Karen much more often these days when the opposite should be happening. He doesn’t know how to stop it and letting it go on isn’t an option. Maybe it’s not by accident then, that he somehow lands on a roof across Murdock’s building, pausing to ignore yet another call from Madani.

He’s known for a while where Red resides. One of the nights when he’d been badly beaten and crawling back home, Frank had followed him to make sure nobody attacked him while he was in that dreadful state. Didn’t mean to intrude at all, only doing the decent thing. Karen would be devastated if anything ever happened to Murdock. And maybe he’d tried to find out where Frank lives too but Frank had been careful not to be followed, changing addresses every couple of weeks for good measure.

The lights are almost always off in Murdock’s apartment. He’s probably out too, he’s out every night. Frank isn’t sure why he takes the time to glance towards his window, not really expecting to see anything there but catching sight of the flowers. Karen never would have told, would she? It’s either a coincidence or a trap. Whatever the case may be, Frank isn’t falling for it.

***

Karen was a little bit surprised by how well Tom had handled their breakup. Not that she’d expected him to shout or cry, but he’d been oblivious to the signs she’d let slip, so him managing to contain his shocked reaction quickly was remarkable. He had asked her to take some time to think it over but she’d let him down gently and that was that. She had felt some guilt at hurting his feelings but she didn’t miss him. There was no space in her life where his shadow persisted after he was gone.

Luckily, New York is full of single men. Finding a date isn’t that difficult. Having a good one is a bit trickier but Karen enjoys the challenge, if nothing else. The preparation isn’t so bad either; the excitement of meeting someone new, wondering what makes them tick. It’s a sort of investigation. She’d had a few fun dates and a bunch of not so fun ones and she was just entertained by being single and searching. But tonight is a self-care night and Karen’s plans involve nothing but take-out and beer for one.

She reaches for her phone and jumps when it begins buzzing under her palm, an unknown number flashing on the screen.

“Hello?”

“Karen, it’s Dinah,” the woman says. “Madani.”

Karen is both relieved and disappointed. “Yes, I know who you are.”

“Sorry to bother you but my attempts at contacting Pete,” she stresses the name, “have been fruitless.”

“Why does everybody think I have a direct line of communication with Frank?” Karen stresses the name too, mildly annoyed at everyone but especially Frank. “I haven’t seen or talked to him since that day at the hospital, agent Madani.”

“I just thought,” Dinah mumbles. “If he contacted anybody, it would be you.”

“Well, he hasn’t.” And Karen is just now realizing that she’s mad at him for it.

“I’ll have to ask you then. Does the name Beth Quinn mean anything to you? Has he ever mentioned her?”

She tries to remember but the name doesn’t ring any bells. “Not that I recall.” A soft knock at the door distracts her and she welcomes it. She doesn’t want to get mixed up in all the drama again. “Just a second,” she tells Dinah and runs to the door, hoping to see a friendly face maybe, Foggy or Matt, preferably bearing beers. What she’d never have expected is to see Frank standing there.

His shoulders are sagging but as soon as he looks at her, he straightens his posture, taking off his cap and fixing his hair. It’s a little bit longer now but not even close to the abhorred hipster look and his face is clean shaven. Karen pushes her phone into her shoulder, unsure whether she should let Madani know he’s here. She’s not even sure she doesn’t want to slam the door in his face.

“Hey, Karen,” he says, not daring to look her straight in the eyes.

“God damn it, Frank,” she sighs as he shifts his weight from one leg to the other. “Come in.” _Don’t make me regret this._


	4. Here and now

Karen is still angry with him, after all this time. Angry, furious, seething. But seeing him brings her some kind of comfort, she can’t deny that. The way he moves around her small living room tells her he’s not confident about how their meeting will go and she thinks, good, let him sweat, he deserves it. Her lips curl into a smile because she’s missed him, words couldn’t describe how much she’s missed him. She takes a step forward and he tenses up, probably thinking she’s going to slap him or something. The thought has crossed her mind.

“It’s good to see you,” Frank says and his eyes smile even if his lips don’t.

“Yeah,” Karen replies dreamily.

And then the muffled voice of Dinah Madani coming from her shoulder breaks her out of her stupor. “Karen? Is everything okay?” Karen brings the phone back up to her ear and clears her throat. “Sorry, I was distracted. You’re in luck, agent Madani. I’m going to put you on speakerphone.”

Frank’s eyebrows knit together as she places her phone on the kitchen counter and nods to him. “Castle?” Dinah’s voice thunders. “Why do you never pick up your phone?”

“I wasn’t feeling sociable, Madani,” he says, his eyes never leaving Karen. She’s opening the fridge and getting two beers, sliding one towards him. He makes no move to take it. If he moves so much as a finger, he’ll be trying to grab on to her in no time. He hasn’t earned that yet.

“Well, considering I’m still cleaning up your messes, maybe you could be more cooperative from now on,” Dinah complains. “Who is Beth Quinn?”

Karen watches his muscles stiffen and his gaze pulling away from her. This is suspicious on its own and the concerned look he casts to her phone makes it worse. She’d very much like to know who Beth Quinn is, if this is the kind of reaction she elicits. Her stomach does a little flip, cautioning her about curiosity.

No, no, no, Frank thinks. This is the wrong place and the wrong time for Beth to be brought up. He feels Karen’s eyes on him and knows she’s watching his every move. “She’s no one,” he mutters. “What do you want with her?”

“It’s not what I want with her, it’s what she wants with you,” Madani explains. “Michigan State Police is asking questions about Pete Castiglione because Beth Quinn is asking questions about Pete Castiglione. Do you understand what this means?”

“What kind of questions?” Karen intervenes.

“She’s worried that she might have caused trouble for Pete, says she needs to find out if he’s okay because she mentioned his name to a man that seemed dangerous. She’s basically sending more people after you,” Dinah says. “Next thing you know, she’ll be filing a missing person’s report. This is damage control, Castle. Do I need to worry about her?”

“No,” Frank says. “Just a single mom, she’s no danger to anyone.”

“Are you sure?” she insists.

“I’ll deal with it, Madani,” he rumbles.

“Deal with it soon. And pick up your damn phone next time,” she tells him and hangs up.

Frank sighs and looks up at Karen. The softness has left her face and she’s now staring at him, one eyebrow quirked, waiting. Her light complexion has traded places with a dark cloud; an ill omen. He’s in plenty of trouble alright. There are already too many things he has to answer for, why did this have to be added to the list?

“Who is Beth Quinn, Frank?” Karen asks and takes a long sip from her bottle.

“Just someone I met along the way,” he tells her and looks away, unable to endure the questioning. Her eyes are fixed on him, a piercing gaze that makes him feel like she’s looking into his soul. And there’s not much to find in there but grime.

“Someone you meet along the way doesn’t go to the police because they’re worried about you,” she responds.

“Good people do, sometimes,” he says. He feels guilty. And she knows.

“So she’s good people,” Karen nods slowly, gulps down more beer, pinches the bridge of her nose. “Good enough to stick around for?”

“I’m here,” Frank tells her.

Like that should mean something to her. “Yes, you are. And I haven’t the faintest idea why,” she laughs without humor. “Is she important to you? Beth?” His refusal to reveal more speaks volumes, but since he has the nerve to show up uninvited and ruin her evening, she has the right to ask questions and demand answers.

“What are you doing, Karen?” he growls.

“I don’t know.” She finishes her beer and rolls the cool bottle against her neck. Her temperature started rising when he arrived and it’s only been getting worse. She sees him swallow hard and doesn’t know if it’s because he enjoys the view or because he’s nervous. Could be both. “Tell me about her. Beth. Beth Quinn. I want to know.” She really doesn’t. She’d rather pretend she never even heard that name but she has the feeling that this confrontation is hurting him just as much as it’s hurting her, maybe even more. And she wants him to hurt.

Frank sighs. “I met her at a bar. Spent…” he pauses. “Some time with her and then I left town because I had to take care of Amy and her shit.”

“Some time,” Karen repeats. “Nights. How many?”

“Just one,” Frank divulges reluctantly. “Karen, listen-”

“One night and she still worries about you? Must have been one hell of a night, Frank.”

Like this is turning into one hell of a mess, Frank thinks. This is not why he came here, he didn’t mean to upset her. Should have stayed away. Karen was smiling a lot more when he wasn’t here.

“And a single mom too, the whole package ready and waiting for you,” Karen continues, feeling immensely pleased by his hurt expression and immediately guilty about how much she enjoyed it. “That was a low blow, I apologize.”

“You don’t need to, I get it,” he huffs. He was prepared to take her punches, cheap shots, kicks in the teeth, anything.

“Of course you do,” she resumes the sarcasm. “So charitable, so generous, always.”

“I came here to apologize to you,” Frank says, feeling like he’s running out of time.

“Tell me, Frank, have you ever seen me act irrationally?”

He doesn’t understand where this is going. He only knows he doesn’t like it but he’s going to have to answer anyway. “Not really, no.”

The empty beer bottle which was previously in her hand flies by his face, across the room and shatters against the wall. Frank looks from the broken glass on the floor and then back to her with his mouth hanging open. Karen might seem calm and collected, if not for the quick rise and fall of her chest and the vibrant red coloring her cheeks. Frank wants to touch her but he’s afraid a single touch might burn him alive.

“I asked you,” Karen says in a low voice. “I asked you to choose love. Do you remember what you told me?” He tries to answer but she doesn’t let him. “I don’t want to,” she imitates his voice in a mocking tone. “How conveniently vague!” she screams at him. “What did you think, that I couldn’t handle it if you told me you didn’t want me, specifically? Do you think me so weak? Or is it that you wanted to string me along, keep me around so I could dig up things for you whenever you wanted?”

“It was never like that,” he implores but she’s too far gone to listen.

“I licked my wounds, Frank. I licked them clean of you. I wiped you off my skin like you were a stain.” She lets the words drip like venom from her mouth, watching as his eyes reflect the pain she’s dealt. Her first instinct is to run to him and stroke his face and say she’s sorry, but something else is building up inside her too. Satisfaction. It’s intoxicating.

Frank hangs his head. When he decided to visit her, he was only thinking of himself; how much he missed her, how he needed to hear her voice, even if she only had accusations to throw his way. And it’s still good to hear that voice as she yells at him, saying these things that hurt more than he could imagine. Jesus Christ, how sick is that?

“Karen,” he mumbles and tries to swallow the bitter emotion blocking his throat. “You’re right, okay? I know I shouldn’t have come but…”

“But what? Spit it out, Frank. I’m tired of all the waiting and holding off.”

“But I couldn’t stay away from you anymore,” Frank replies, his voice trembling slightly and Karen’s eyes widen in fleeting bewilderment.

“You’re too late,” she whispers and even though her gaze is unforgiving, her tone is sorrowful. She wishes she could take it back but having just found out he’s been looking for his after in somebody else’s arms, somebody else’s bed, that’s all she can afford him. “I’m seeing someone. He’s nice.”

Frank nods, feeling too broken for words but manages a simple sentence in response. “You deserve nice things.”

“I know,” Karen tells him and the conversation grinds to a halt.

Maybe he could have found something more to say but the silence drags on a little longer, before it’s broken by a loud knock at the door and Foggy’s muffled laughter. “Open up, we have come to arrest you!” Foggy says and Matt can be heard laughing too. They sound drunk, which might be the reason why Matt hasn’t picked up on the signs of Frank’s presence yet.

“What have I done to deserve this?” Karen sighs as she moves to let them in.

They stumble inside, Matt’s arm draped over Foggy’s shoulder, bringing the stench of cheap alcohol with them. Foggy’s head snaps up when he notices Frank, looking a bit scared, but he must have done a fair amount of drinking because his face eases into a smile very quickly. “I’ve been good, Mister Punisher, sir.” His speech is slurred but the words are discernible. “Please, don’t hurt me,” he says and starts giggling.

“You’re safe from me, Nelson,” Frank responds and strides towards the door.

“Wait, wait, wait,” Matt calls after him, slurring his words a little bit more than Foggy and makes a failed attempt at grabbing Frank by the arm. “I need to talk to you. There’s a price on your head!”

“Yeah, what else is new?” Frank replies, puts on his cap and looks over his shoulder at Karen who is holding the door open for him. Her lips are pressed tightly together like she wants to say something she shouldn’t and her eyes are welling up. He doesn’t know what else he could say to her; things only become worse every time he opens his mouth. She doesn’t deserve this. She deserves the laughter and the smiles, the nice things that he can’t give her. He forces his feet to take another step away from her.

Karen tilts her head when he nods once, saying nothing. She’d expected more from him but maybe that’s the problem; if she had kept her expectations low, they might not be standing here like this. She has to fight against her fingers wriggling with the inexplicable need to touch him before he leaves. “Take care, Frank,” she says, clenching her hand into a fist and closes the door.

When he’s outside, the crisp breeze attacks his face, providing an excuse for his shaking. He should give Beth a call, get it out of the way, put this whole night behind him. She picks up immediately, like she was waiting for her phone to ring.

“It’s Pete,” he grunts. “You alright, Beth?”

“Oh, thank god,” Beth lets out a sigh of relief. “Yes, I’m alright. I was just so worried something had happened to you.”

“I’m fine, okay? No need to worry. Everything’s fine,” Frank tells her, feeling undeniably less fine with each passing second.

“Are you… Are you coming back?” she asks him, hope evident in her tone, even though he imagines she’s trying to hide it.

There was never anything for him there, just a temporary moment of comfort while he pretended that he had no other attachments, that he wasn’t going to crawl back to Karen at the first chance he got. “No, Beth, I’m not,” he replies.

She sighs. “At least I know I haven’t gotten you into trouble.”

And Frank starts laughing, because if he doesn’t laugh, he’s going to cry.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apparently, torturing Frank is becoming a theme for all my fics. Great, just kill me now.


	5. Down the line

Lately, Frank has been neglecting his duties of hunting down criminals because he’s been too busy getting hammered. It hasn’t been going on that long. Could be a week, could be a month for all he cares. But it’s been a week. He knows this because he’s been counting the days since Karen Page kicked him out of her life and it’s been exactly seven days.

Every night he chooses a different bar because he doesn’t want to draw attention to himself and slipping into comfortable habits that involve places with people in them, tends to draw attention. Even as Pete, he can’t become “Pete, one of the regulars”. The regulars are visible and Frank can’t afford to be visible. This new place, whose name he can’t be bothered to remember, is much seedier than what he’d usually aim for but its lighting is dreary enough to hide his face.

Heavy footsteps approach as he knocks back another shot of whisky, feeling only barely tipsy. He’s gonna need many more of those to help him sleep through the night, so he signals for another round and waits for the bartender to move. The heavy footsteps come to a stop behind him and a voice with an equally heavy accent addresses him. “Frank Castle,” it says and he doesn’t even flinch, pretending he’s not concerned that somebody has actually recognized him.

“You’ve got the wrong guy, buddy,” he says calmly.

“I don’t think so,” the other man insists and before Frank can turn around to face him, he’s grabbed him by the collar of his shirt and hurled him through the glass door, out in the street. That’s good, Frank thinks, instantly sober, as he staggers to his feet. Fewer chances of innocents getting injured. His attention turns towards the bar’s entrance, where a mountain of a man casually pulls the smashed door off its hinges and throws it at him. Even though he moves fast, it only just misses him, landing a couple of feet next to him with a loud clang.

Frank braces himself as the man lunges at him but he’s easily swept off his feet, his breath cut off by the force the attacker’s shoulder bumps into his ribcage and the impact of the both of them crashing into a wall behind. When he pulls back, getting ready to jump him again, Frank grabs his gun and starts shooting, still gasping for air. He empties his magazine in the man’s chest but it only manages to stall him for a few seconds; reaching for his own gun takes him longer and Frank decides to run for it.

“You can’t run forever,” the stranger’s voice booms behind him, followed by the sound of gunfire.

Frank ducks his head and runs faster, sparing some quick glances back to see that beast still following him. He’s slower than Frank is, there’s that at least, but he can’t see any way out of this unless he manages to lose him, so he turns a corner in search of a dark alley. He knows he’s bleeding, probably a piece of glass stuck somewhere but he can’t exactly feel the pain at the moment. Who the hell is this man and what does he want with him?

He doesn’t have much time to think as he hides behind a dumpster and realizes he’s out of ammo. Stupid, stupid mistake. A dark figure touches down beside him with a soft thump and Frank instinctively lifts up his gun. “Goddamn it, Red. I could’ve shot you.”

“Maybe, if you had any bullets left,” Matt says. “Put that thing down.” He is alert, listening to every single sound around them and trying to come up with a plan to escape. “You’ve confused him for now but he’ll be coming back this way soon. I have to get you out of here.”

“Yeah,” Frank groans. “Don’t think I’ll make it very far.”

In the short span of time it took for Matt to figure out which way Frank’s adversary has gone, Frank has also figured out he hasn’t got a piece of glass stuck somewhere at all, just a couple of bullets in his back. He can feel the blood soaking his shirt; it’s not too much but it’s enough to knock him out. “I was just out for a drink, didn’t think I’d need the vest,” he mumbles.

“Or you were trying to get yourself killed,” Matt observes. “Which seems more plausible?”

Frank chuckles. “Guess we’ll never know.” His limbs are becoming heavier and he feels sick. Blood loss does that, he knows and he hates it.

“Okay, I’m taking you to Karen’s place,” Matt says like it’s the most brilliant idea in the world.

“No, you can’t,” Frank complains as his eyes start closing on their own and Matt slaps him back into consciousness.

“Don’t pass out now, I can’t carry you,” he tells him and it sounds reasonable, so Frank nods, against his better judgement.

“You can’t take me to Karen’s,” he mutters as Matt slides under his arm, supporting his weight and dragging him along. “She shouldn’t have to deal with my shit. She doesn’t want me there.”

“It’s either her place or the hospital. And her place is closer so, shut up and move, we don’t have much time.”

Frank wants to protest some more but he has to focus all his energy on walking, if what he’s doing could be called walking. Karen will be so mad, that’s all he can think about while Matt grunts and stumbles under his weight. She’ll be so mad, all hell will break loose. When they finally make it to her door, he almost wishes she’s not in. But the door opens and she looks at them, horrified and slack jawed. “I told him… Told him not to bring me here,” Frank manages to articulate before collapsing at her feet.    

Karen had forgotten he’s mortal, vulnerable; a fact easy enough to slip your mind when someone behaves like a ghost. But she’s reminded now, as Frank crumbles in front of her while Matt is making an honest effort to hold on to him. “He did,” he tells her. “But you’re the best chance he has. His pulse is still strong but someone needs to get the bullets out.”

“Have you ever heard of hospitals, Matt?” she huffs, already bending down and getting hold of Frank’s feet. Of course she knows he couldn’t be taken to a hospital, not unless he was planning on getting arrested. “Grab his other arm, help me carry him to the bed.”

As soon as he wakes up, she’s going to give him a piece of her mind. As soon as he wakes up, she’s going to kick his ass out. _Please, don’t die. Not like this_. How is a man like Frank supposed to die anyway? You reap what you sow, isn’t that how it goes? Karen tries to clear her mind. If she’s going to be fishing bullets out of his flesh, she needs to access the rational part of her mind which holds all the necessary information for an event like this.

Matt listens to her mumbling to herself as she turns Frank over. “Can’t see an exit wound, pressure, apply pressure, what comes next? No, have to get them out, goddamn it, there’s so much blood, I can’t see anything.”

“How do you know how to do this?” he asks.

Karen replies without looking up from her task. “When one of your best friends is a vigilante, you have to be prepared for all sorts of things. And the internet is an extremely useful tool,” she says, pulling a bullet out of Frank’s back with her tweezers.

“You were worried about me?”

“Weird, huh?” Karen laughs.

“You don’t have to worry about me,” Matt stammers.

“Oh, don’t I?” She doesn’t need to remind him he was presumed dead and what that did to his friends, but she’ll do it if she has to.

“No, I mean…” He clears his throat. “This suit is fortified against bullets.”

“Is it fortified against this?” she says, grabbing a book from her nightstand and throwing it, hitting him square on the head.

Matt presses his lips together for a moment. “Yes.”

“You don’t tell me what to worry about,” she admonishes and managing to get the second bullet out, she sighs in short-lived relief; blood starts pouring out of the wound and she presses down with both her hands to try and stop it. “Why did you have to bring him here? He’s going to bleed out! He’s going to die and it’s going to be my fault!” she cries and Matt leans over, crushing her hands under his to apply more pressure.

“He’s going to be fine,” he reassures her. “We just have to stop the bleeding.”

A few moments later, during which Karen hasn’t dared to breathe, the bleeding slows and stops. She turns to Matt, looking for confirmation that all is well and he nods; even though it’s weak, Frank’s pulse is steady. Karen wants to wipe her tears away but if she does, she’s going to smear blood all over her face. She goes off to wash her hands and waits for them to stop shaking. The next step is stitching up the wounds and she won’t be able to do it in this state.

“The things I do for love,” she whispers without thinking when she returns to the room and she can tell Matt has heard her, because he perks up and his lips form a strict line.

“You love him?” he asks in amazement.

“Yeah, look at him, a guilt-ridden, self-destructive idiot. How could I resist?” she mocks herself as she gets started on the stitches. It’s weird, she thinks when the needle pierces Frank’s skin, how much it feels like cutting chicken meat. “I trust my little secret won’t leave this room,” Karen warns.

“Does he know?” Matt continues his interrogation.

And Karen has to wonder that herself. Maybe he actually doesn’t. Maybe he’s too wrapped up in other things to ever notice. If Matt could see, he’d be staring at her. It feels like he is. “It doesn’t matter,” she tells him, picking up a damp towel to try and clean some of the blood off Frank.

“I’m sorry, Karen,” he says in a gentle tone. “He was right, I should have taken him somewhere else.”

“No, you did good,” Karen replies, not acknowledging the sentiment even as the words leave her mouth. “It’s okay, I’m not mad,” she says and her voice breaks. She’s just heartsick and devastated, but not mad.

Matt comes closer and pulls her into a cautious hug and Karen allows herself to be held, because she suddenly feels drained. But she’s not going to cry. No matter how worried she was that Frank was going to die in her arms, no matter how much stress has gathered in her stomach, she’s not going to shed a single tear. Frank stirs and groans softly, and she jolts back, wondering what he might need but he doesn’t seem to be in any imminent danger, just mumbling in his sleep.

“That damn nightmare again,” she huffs and picks up the bloody towel, throwing it towards the bathroom.

“What nightmare?” Matt asks.

“His family, the day they died,” Karen explains. “He’s always dreaming about it.”

That’s not what Matt can hear though. He mulls over telling her what Frank’s rambling is about; perhaps he shouldn’t, it’s none of his business and maybe it will do nothing but more harm. In the end, he can’t resist telling the truth. “But he’s calling for you.”

Karen furrows her brows momentarily, ready to ask him how he knows, but of course he knows, he can hear everything. She leans over Frank, runs her fingers through his hair and he goes perfectly quiet, perfectly still. “You get your rest now because you’ll be in serious trouble when you wake up,” she tells him, not caring if he can actually hear her.

Matt feels like he’s intruding, this is a private moment and he shouldn’t be standing there. He has to leave. And his night is far from over; he’s going to have to figure out the identity of this new enemy of theirs. Why theirs though, he wonders. “Maybe you should take tomorrow off,” he tells Karen.

“You know, I think I will,” she agrees, nodding unnecessarily. “Can’t imagine I’ll get much sleep tonight, so I wouldn’t be any use if I decided to come in to work anyway.”

“Normally, I’d say he had this coming. But he was only out for a drink, he wasn’t on the warpath or anything. He was just acting like a normal person would,” Matt says, unsure why he feels the need to make excuses for Frank.

But Karen isn’t buying it. “Frank is always on the warpath. That will be his undoing.”

Her voice is heavy with emotion. It’s making his chest hurt. “Call me if you need anything,” he replies before escaping.


	6. By morning

Frank wakes up serenely in the morning, sunlight dancing across his face as the curtains ripple against the gentle breeze. It takes him a moment to realize that the surface on which he’s splayed out, isn’t his bed; his bed isn’t that soft, not that cozy. He takes in his surroundings, the spotless white walls, the wide space, all tidy and neat. This definitely isn’t the place he’s been calling home recently. He’s looked inside this room from afar, never set foot in it before but it feels familiar to him nonetheless, because Karen’s scent is coating every single item in it. His brain quickly delivers last night’s events and Frank curses under his breath. He doesn’t want to leave the comfort of the warm blanket but he must.

Karen suddenly comes into view, arms crossed on her chest. “You’re up,” she says, her voice blank, completely devoid of emotion. “Should you be up?”

“Yeah, I’m fine. Sorry, I’ll just get dressed and leave you in peace,” Frank stammers. She rolls her eyes in response and he notices the dark circles under them.

“There’s fresh coffee,” she tells him, “and I was just about to make breakfast. Even the Punisher has to eat,” she finishes and withdraws to the kitchen.

He tries to put on his clothes without fussing as he feels the stitches pulling. But when it comes to his shirt, he decides against trying to wear it, since it’s torn and covered in blood. He goes after Karen, approaches the kitchen isle and pulls up a chair, taking a seat with slow movements. Her head tilts in his direction when he groans but she doesn’t turn around to look at him. “Need painkillers?”

“No, I’m good. Thanks,” he replies meekly. “I appreciate you taking care of me. You didn’t have to.” Silence. He’s on thin ice.

A few minutes later, she shoves a plateful of eggs in front of him and hands him a fork, as she starts nibbling on a piece of toast without much appetite. He thanks her again when she gives him a cup of coffee and she makes a sound of moderate approval, not granting him another word while he chews and swallows like this is his last meal. Breakfast at Karen’s should have been a glorious occasion, not this awkward encounter between two people who don’t know how to behave around each other. He sips coffee with surprising zeal, going over all the things he wants to say to her in his head.

“Karen,” he begins and still she says nothing, makes no sound of acknowledgement, only keeping an eye on him as she waits for the rest. “I’m sorry.”

“For what?” she says finally, looking mildly amused. “Which one of all the things you should be sorry for?”

“Everything.”

“I’m going to need you to be more specific, Frank,” she narrows her eyes at him.

“For lying to you and bringing my mess to your doorstep and being an ass and putting you in danger,” he replies. “All of it.”

Karen rubs her forehead. He’s so close to seeing reason but it’s such a shame that he had to get shot once more in order to get here.

“You think I’m smart, Karen. I’m not,” he goes on. “I’m damn stupid, okay? I’m stupid enough not to know when good things are being offered to me, stupid enough to say no when I want to say yes.”

Her breath hitches a little but she manages to contain her reaction.

“I wanted to say yes,” he repeats, holding her gaze. His face is an etching of regret.

“Why didn’t you?” she asks in a low voice.

“I don’t know,” Frank huffs, shrugging his shoulders.

“Bullshit,” Karen laughs. “I’m not going to do this, unless you’re honest with me. Enough with the half-truths.”

He nods to her because she’s right, as usual, she deserves more than the flimsy excuses he can come up with. “I was scared,” he admits.

“Of me?” Her eyebrows fly up but the thought is entertaining. This man has walked through hell, how could he be scared of her?

“Yeah, you, goddamn Karen Page, who will walk in a room and flood it with light when everything’s supposed to be dark,” he chuckles dryly, hanging his head. “I’ve been fighting for so long, I don’t know who I am without something to fight. Death comes knocking, I’ll fight it and when life comes, I’ll fight it too,” Frank admits. “But, Jesus Christ, Karen, I don’t want to fight you anymore.”

“I don’t want to fight you either but I guess it’s unavoidable, isn’t it?” Though his words are beginning to smooth things over, they’re not nearly close to a truce. Karen wonders if there’s even a point in wanting to patch things up now. She suspects he might be yielding so easily because he’s shocked by his little adventure the night before. And even if that isn't the case, even if he’s being completely honest, she doesn’t trust him and that’s the crux of the matter. Sure, she trusts him with her life, but nothing else. “You didn’t fight Beth,” she says, reproach concentrated in her tone.

“That was something else,” he says.

“If you tell me it didn’t mean anything, I swear I’m going to scream,” Karen grins in warning.

There’s no point in trying to invent excuses now; he’s already broken her heart, might as well drop the act. “It meant something.”

This is much much worse than Karen expected. Assuming the love of your life doesn’t feel the same about you, however painful, is relatively harmless; it’s just thoughts that you can wave away with your hand, if need be. Getting confirmation is earth shattering.

“It meant you were right,” Frank continues. “That I couldn’t go on pretending I’m not lonely.”

“Oh, so you had to go through Beth to have some sense knocked into you?” Contempt is thick on her tongue, almost as if she could roll it around her mouth like a candy and it tastes just as good too.

“Something like that.”

Karen bends over, placing her elbows on the isle and crossing her hands under her chin. As they remain there, eye to eye, she contemplates yelling at him again but experience has shown her Frank responds better to low tones, if the words accompanying them are heavy enough. “Do you know what I was doing, while you were hooking up with Beth, and however many before her?”

“Just her,” he chokes out, hoping it will make things slightly better.

“Do you know,” she stresses, “what I was doing, Frank?”

He rubs his eyes nervously. “Found out recently.”

“And?”

No matter how much Frank thinks about it, he’ll never know how to explain himself. He found out about Matt and about Fisk going after her. Knowing Karen, she must think the first was worse but that’s just stupid; a broken heart can be healed but death is irreparable. He imagines her dead, by Fisk’s hand, because despite all her bravery and tenacity, she’s still fragile. Fisk could have broken her as easily as dropping a glass on the floor. And he wasn’t there to stop it. _Inadequate_ , is the word that comes to mind. Frank himself, his words, his actions, entirely inadequate. He reaches for her hand and pulls it to his lips, kissing her knuckles, her fingers, turning it to kiss her palm too and Karen is surprised by his reaction. “I’m sorry,” he whispers several times. “I should’ve been here, I’m sorry.”

And just like that, Karen stumbles across forgiveness. She doesn’t tell him, definitely won’t, but she’s allowed to let go of part of her wrath at least. It’s been such a heavy burden to carry. To be honest, she was somewhat relieved he wasn’t around at the time. His way wouldn’t have helped at all. He might have even gotten himself killed trying to protect her. She’s glad she didn’t have to worry about that too. She pulls her hand from his grasp and straightens up. “Can’t change the past,” she says sternly, a lesson Frank should have learned by now.

“I could spend the rest of my life apologizing to you, would that help?”

“Wow, the rest of your life?” she can’t help but laugh again, even if it hurts him. “And how long is that? A week? A month? A year, at the most, with the kind of life you’re leading. Do you think that’s enough?”

“No,” he says, his eyes dark as coal.

“Exactly right,” Karen nods. “Besides, I don’t want your scraps, Frank.”

“Scraps?” Anger starts accumulating inside him. Not because she’s sneering at him, not because she’s clearly going to reject him again, but because she doesn’t understand how strong his feelings are. He doesn’t even fully comprehend it himself, the magnitude of this thing she’s planted in him that he can’t uproot despite all his efforts.

“Of all the things I’ve said, _that_ strikes a nerve?” she scoffs.

Frank stands up from his seat and walks slowly to her. There’s something about his movement that would seem menacing to the average person but Karen has seen it before, months ago, as he stood up from his hospital bed, approaching her only to tear her down. She’s not afraid that he will do the same now; she’s only afraid that what he has in mind is something she desperately wants. And she can’t want it, not anymore. But she doesn’t fight back when he pins her against the wall, wrapping a hand around her jaw.

“Do you have any idea what I’d do for you, Karen?” he growls and then lets a whimper escape him, a sound that betrays unbearable pain. Their lips are impossibly close, his breath is setting the skin of her face on fire; maybe that’s why her cheeks feel so flushed, she tries to rationalize as his eyes bore into hers. “Scraps? I’d burn this world down for you, skin myself alive just to please you.”

They’re both breathing heavily and Karen knows she’s lost, she can’t lie to herself and pretend she doesn’t want this but she has enough strength to keep up the façade for a little while longer. “Are you sure you want to do this?” she asks him. If he says yes, it’s game over.

Not with so many matters unresolved, Frank realizes. _Not like this. Not like punishment._

He forces himself to fall back, allowing his hand to caress her cheek as he pulls it away and trying to slow down his breath.

“Why does everything have to be about destruction with you?” Karen asks him, a little choked up. “Why does everything have to be about suffering?”

“Maybe it’s just who I am,” he responds. “Or maybe I have to suffer to get-”

“The prize? What am I, the Holy Grail?” she interrupts him by yelling and when she’s confronted only with silence, she feels the need to laugh, hysterically, bitterly, just laugh, because it seems insane. But she keeps it together. “Oh, I see. As far as you’re concerned, I’m a perfect little angel.” Frank takes a step towards her and opens his mouth but she prevents him from responding with a wave of her finger. “Don’t go placing me on any pedestals, I’m only human.”

“Never said otherwise,” he mutters.

“But it’s how you think. Better not defile the immaculate Karen Page with your dirty, dirty Punisher hands, right?” Feeling a lump rising in her throat, she takes a moment to breathe. Why are the men in her life so incredibly dumb? “My hands aren’t clean either,” she says at last, startled at the guilt that still resides in the pit of her stomach. It should have gotten easier by now, surely? Does he feel the same way about all the lives he’s taken, regardless of thinking his actions justified?

“What are you talking about?”

His eyebrows furrow in confusion and Karen wants to see how he’ll react to disappointment. She wants to see if he’ll turn around and leave again, when she bursts his bubble. She’s not going to talk about her brother. Kevin is hers and hers alone and she’s shared him enough already. “James Wesley. He was Fisk’s lapdog. No, they were more than that. They were friends,” she chuckles to detract from the fact that her eyes are watering. “Thinking of him as someone’s friend makes it worse, even if that someone is Wilson Fisk. But it doesn’t matter because he’s dead now. I killed him.”

She doesn’t notice she’s shaking until Frank has wrapped an arm around her. “Did he threaten you?”

“Yes, but that wasn’t important. He threatened the people I cared about. He had to die for that,” Karen says, knowing that she did the right thing but questioning her decision all the same.

“You had no choice,” Frank consoles her.

“I did have a choice. There are always choices and we make the ones that are easier to live with, that’s the thing,” she sighs, leaning against his bare chest for a few seconds and then pushes him back, upset at herself for the momentary lapse of judgement. “I’m not telling you this so you can offer me a shoulder to cry on. I’m telling you so you can see me for what I am.”

There’s a beat of solemn silence.

 

_“Doesn't matter. It doesn't matter what you did. It doesn't change how I feel about you.”_

_“It should.”_

_“It doesn't.”_

 

“Okay,” Frank nods.

“It’s not that I don’t understand the weight of your loss,” Karen tells him. “But it all comes down to the choices we make. So you only have two options when your life has turned to ashes. You can either make them your home or rise up from them. And I know,” she pushes as tears start trickling down her face, “I know which is easier. Believe me, I do! But I also know which is better.”

“What would you have me do, Karen?”

“I have no horse in this race,” she lies. "But I think you might want to pick the one that doesn’t lead you to lay bleeding in my bed again.”

“Got it,” he replies and even though he understands the double meaning, he sees a sliver of hope hidden in her words. Maybe he’s imagining it but if she’ll let him, he will try to make amends, he will devote his life to atoning for everything. The doubt is killing him, he wants to ask, what about after? Is after still within reach? But he’s too much of a coward when it comes to Karen, it seems. Couldn’t bear to hear her say no.

“Let’s see, shall we?” Karen says, as though reading his thoughts.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's 4 in the morning right now. I should be asleep. Kastle will be the death of me. Send help.


	7. Tomorrow

“Karen,” Foggy greets her with a honeyed voice when she enters the office a day later. “My sweet, sweet Karen.”

Matt is leaning against his door and his head is bowed in a weird angle. Karen looks between them curiously, wondering what has happened, as Foggy draws near and gently runs his hands down her cheeks. While Foggy is generally more inclined towards gestures of affection than Matt, she can’t believe he’s missed her so much in the single day she didn’t turn up for work.

“Foggy,” she chuckles nervously.

“Tell me, my darling,” he starts with the same sweet tone and then switches to bellowing. “Are you out of your damn mind?”

Karen’s eyes turn to Matt, who has the decency to look guilty, but not nearly as ashamed as he should be. “I didn’t tell him anything,” he says before running into his office and shutting the door.

“He’s lying, he did tell me some things,” Foggy continues, pointing a finger at the closed door, “but I can do the math myself, you know. Give me some credit.” 

“I have no clue what you’re talking about,” she feigns ignorance as she sets her purse down at her desk, casually checking a stack of envelopes. “Maybe you’d like to fill me in?”

Even though he’s beside himself, Foggy knows better than to keep shouting and opts instead for whispering loudly. “Of all the men in New York, all the men in the world, you develop feelings for the Punisher? The Punisher, Karen?”

Karen purses her lips at him in disapproval. When did the details of her love life become public property? Not that there’s a love life to speak of, especially when it comes to Frank. A few passionate words spoken between excessive arguing aren’t the material romance is built upon. She could probably explain that to Foggy, but now isn’t the moment to do it. “There’s nothing between me and Frank.” A blatant lie.

“I hope so,” he exclaims and Karen gets even more annoyed.

“Don’t you think you’re a little bit out of line here? I’m not a child and you’re not my parent,” she huffs.

“Karen, I’m sorry, I know this is slightly inappropriate but-”

“Slightly?”

“But,” he insists, “I’m worried about you, okay? Damn it, Karen, you’re family! I can’t help it!”

Karen takes his hand in hers and smiles, because it’s Foggy. It’s easy to smile and be tender with him. “I appreciate your concern, I really do. But you don’t need to worry. Frank would never do anything to hurt me.” This is only half a lie, so that makes it okay.

Foggy lets out a long sigh but his eyebrows are still knit together. “It’s not Frank I’m worried about. I’m sure that underneath his tough, terrifying exterior lies a heart of gold. It’s what follows him that concerns me.”

She tries to dismiss his concern with a wave of her hand. “I’m not getting mixed up in his battles, so I’m not in any danger.”

He wants to go easy on her but she’s trying his patience. “He was in your apartment, after being shot by what appears to be an ogre, based on Matt’s description. What if that person had followed him to your place?”

“You’re acting like I invited him over. I didn’t.”

“But you didn’t turn him out either,” he exclaims.

She gnashes her teeth. “What was I supposed to do? “

“You can’t let all the strays in, Karen! You just can’t!” Foggy yells.

“I was a stray too and you let me in,” she says, her voice trembling because she doesn’t know what would have happened to her if Matt and Foggy hadn’t come along. Maybe that’s the foundation of her feelings for Frank too, the same principle. Charity. She considers swallowing that bitter pill but _oh, if only it was that easy._

“That’s different and you know it,” Foggy replies gently.

“Should I have let him die?”

“I don’t know!” His shoulders rise with tension and slump back down. “No, but…”

Foggy is a good man. He probably would have done the same if he was in Karen’s shoes, though he would have complained way more. Afraid as he is of Frank, he wouldn’t let him die either, couldn’t have that on his conscience. And Karen is aware that even though Matt is the one always preaching about virtue, Foggy is proof of it. “He’s not in my apartment anymore,” she informs him. “He’s out, okay?”

“Where is he?”

Away, Karen thinks. Frank is always far, far away and she’s tired of the strain trying to reach him is causing her. Foggy is right to worry but not for the reasons he’s thinking of. She’d been just fine before Frank decided to stomp his way back in her life again, she had been worry-free, content, right? Is there anything stopping her from doing it again?

“Didn’t ask, don’t care. See? You’re upset over nothing. Frank and I aren’t even…” She pauses and bites her lip. Aren’t even what? Friends? Yes, that seems accurate. They’re barely even friends anymore and it’s all so frustrating.

“But you want to be,” Foggy responds to the unfinished sentence that’s hanging over her head like a raincloud, placing a friendly hand on her shoulder and squeezing softly.

Her awkwardness echoes in the laughter leaping out of her throat. “So what? I also want a rocket ship, doesn’t mean I’m going to get it.”

Foggy raises his free hand up to her other shoulder and shakes her affectionately. “Between you and Matt, my premature death is pretty much guaranteed,” he sighs again. “Just do me a favor, Karen. Be careful.”

“I promise, Foggy bear,” she laughs and he laughs with her and walks off, shaking his head, but Karen knows he’s still thinking about the matter.

She has to think about it too. What was it that drew her to Frank in the first place? He’d been -still is- a man in desperate need of help and help wasn’t coming. And she had done her duty, she had done more than what was required of her, she had helped him; that should have been enough. But there was more. His sense of honor? Fat lot of good that did to her. The story? Finding out exactly who he is, the good and evil of him? Well, she has found out alright. There are no more secrets to uncover. So why is she still trying to push water uphill?

The hours pass easily as Karen buries herself in work, but she observes with amusement that Matt hasn’t shown his face, doubtlessly afraid of her reaction. She can hear him moving around, opening and closing books, standard workplace activities. He’s bound to resurface at some point, with a frown on his face most likely, to make her take pity on him. Seeing as her initial irritation has already faded, she decides to put him out of his misery. “Matt,” she calls and notices that all sounds coming from his office stop immediately, like he’s frozen into place.

“Yes?” his voice comes out hesitant.

She finds that hilarious. If two out of two vigilantes in her life are so afraid of her, maybe she really is scary. “Want coffee?”

He cracks open the door and peeks out with a small, grateful smile on his face. “Yes, please,”’ he says, relieved that he’s in the clear.

“Come out, you little snitch,” Karen laughs and starts pouring coffee for both of them. “I’m not going to hurt you.”

“Can I have that in writing?” Matt chuckles. “Because there’s something I haven’t told you yet.”

Pouting, she hands him a mug. “Save the preamble next time, just get straight to the point.”

He nods. “Remember Tom Rayner?”

“Of course I remember him. It hasn’t been that long.”

“He’ll be coming in tomorrow. Wants a consultation about a contract. It shouldn’t take long.”

“That’s all?” Karen exhales in relief. That’s a welcome change; all the things Matt has wanted to discuss with her recently have been about Frank. The mild awkwardness of coming face to face with your ex seems pleasant in comparison.

“I just thought you might want to avoid him,” Matt shrugs.

“Why would I want to avoid him? Tom is a sweetheart,” Karen smiles over her coffee.

***

For the first time in a while, Karen decides to wear a flowy dress to work. She even lets her hair down and makes a tiny bit of extra effort with her make up. She doesn’t need to but she likes it. And Tom is only partly responsible for this. When she walks into the office with a spring in her step, the guys are hunched over her desk, talking over case details and they barely acknowledge her, but they have coffee ready and waiting. She picks up her mug just as Foggy looks up to say a proper hello.

“Whoa!” he says instead and his mouth hangs open for a second. Karen giggles in response and does a small curtsy. “I’m sorry. What I meant to say was yowzah!”  

“What’s going on?” Matt chimes in.

“Our girl is looking very hot today. We’re talking radioactive levels of hotness here. We might have to clear the premises,” Foggy laughs.

“Ah, yes,” Matt nods, chuckling. “Tom,” he says, like that explains everything.

Karen shushes them and takes a seat. She’s in a good mood. This is nice, normal, comfortable. “Get on with your work and let me do mine,” she brushes them off but they’re all still smiling as silence falls in their small, meat-smelling office.

Her tasks for the day involve mainly legal correspondence and case management and even though it’s not work that usually excites her, she has no problem going through it today. It’s not a big deal but it makes her feel productive, it makes her feel like she’s making a difference. She’s so absorbed in what she’s doing that she barely registers Foggy’s departure sometime later, and that’s simply because he stops to ask her if she wants anything. “Bagel,” she mumbles, pushing a lock of hair out of her face as she double-checks that there are no schedule conflicts in her records. When the door clicks open after a while, still without looking up she extends her arm, opening and closing her fingers in a greedy gesture. “Give me,” she says absentmindedly.

“I, uh, didn’t bring you anything. Sorry,” says a gruff voice and Karen turns her head slowly to its direction. “You look really beautiful,” Frank tells her and his features are soft and delicate and there’s a tiny smile on his face that simply overwhelms her.

Karen hopes enough hair is covering the sides of her face, so that her blush might go unnoticed. “Frank,” she mutters, somewhat stunned and gets up from her chair. She feels oddly flustered, like she was caught doing something naughty. Her hands start straightening the creases of her skirt as she tries to think of something to say. He seems very large to her, all of a sudden, almost like he couldn’t fit in this space even if it was ten times as big.

Matt chooses to pop out of his office at that moment, looking inappropriately nervous for the occasion. “Uh, guys…” He raises his palm like he’s trying to stop them but it makes little sense to Karen; they haven’t exchanged enough words for the conversation to devolve into an argument yet.

“Hey, Red,” Frank addresses him casually, in a tone too friendly to be real. “Just the guy I wanted to see.”

“No, no,” Matt tries to warn them. “No names, no Red, no Frank.” His head turns from Frank to Karen and back again. “Just Pete, okay?”

And then the door opens once more and Tom walks in, as gentle and shy as the first time he came into the office. Karen blushes furiously when she sees him, no amount of hair could hide that, and Frank examines her face without looking towards the door, eyes squinting in concentration. Tom takes a few steps closer to their little circle, making it into Frank’s field of vision and as he opens his mouth to greet everyone in his usual, polite manner, Frank can be heard saying “Tom Rayner” very clearly.

Two sets of eyes focus on him instantly and, he has no doubt about it, a third would too, if Murdock could see. Tom is staring at him in confusion, which is understandable, but Karen fixes him with a glare that has the intensity of a thousand exploding stars.

 _You’ve been watching me_.  

“I’m sorry, have we met?” Tom says a second later.

“No, but I read something about you, online.” Sweat starts forming on his forehead as he wishes that this passes for normal human interaction. Nothing suspicious about it. “Up-and-coming young businessman, right?” he manages a chuckle. Tom looks satisfied with this explanation.

“Oh, thank you,” he smiles. “Didn’t know I was a celebrity, mister…”

“Castiglione. Pete,” Frank says and shakes his hand nervously.

“Mister Rayner, let’s get right to work,” Matt intervenes, saving Frank from making any more mistakes by hastily directing Tom into his office and Karen sits back down without a word, obviously set on ignoring him.

“You will not speak to me,” is the only thing she says to him, sensing his intention to explain himself, before going back to disregarding him completely.

It makes for a long half-hour of waiting for Matt, him sitting across the room like an idiot and her pretending she’s all alone in there. One thing he’s certain about is that the desire to yell at him must be killing her, as much as her silence is killing him. Why can’t he do anything right?

He jumps to his feet as soon as Murdock’s door opens, grateful for the distraction, but still waits patiently for the necessary pleasantries to be exchanged. And when that’s done, Tom Rayner, perfect, pretty boy Tom Rayner turns to Karen and asks her if she’s had lunch yet. She flashes him a warm smile that makes Frank’s stomach hurt.

“I was waiting on a bagel but it’s been delayed,” she replies.

“Would you care to join me then?” the pretty boy offers, stars in his eyes, red on his cheeks, and Frank’s fingers twitch in his pockets.

“Sure, let me finish up here and I’ll meet you out front,” Karen agrees graciously.

Smiling, still smiling. He could drop to his knees to ask for that smile to be aimed at him. Tom walks past him and Frank feels like tearing the office apart. He watches as she gets up and grabs her jacket, trailing after Tom with the ghost of a smile still on her lips and he grabs her arm, making her pause before she’s touched the door handle. Matt has been standing there quietly; he’s aware of the fact but he doesn’t care, can’t care right now.

“Karen,” he whispers softly, “please.” It’s as close to begging as he can get in this setting. 

“Don’t touch me,” she says through her teeth.

He releases her immediately, he blinks and she’s gone.

Matt clears his throat to draw his attention. “You wanted to see me?”

Frank’s voice seems to be caught in his throat. He briefly wonders if Red can tell when people nod to him. He probably can. “Yeah,” he says eventually, just to be safe, and Matt motions him inside like it’s no big deal.

“I can imagine being here is not easy for you,” Murdock begins.

“You got that right, Red.”

“I can help you, Frank. The guy that came after you is very dangerous, you can’t take him down on your own,” he says.

“Look, I appreciate what you did. If you hadn’t gotten me out of there that creep would have crushed me like a bug. But you know how I operate. If I get the chance, I won’t let him walk away.” Frank observes him closely. “Are you okay with that?”

“No,” Matt replies honestly. “But maybe we should cross that bridge when we get to it. For the time being, he’s going through every place you’ve ever been. He’ll catch up to you sooner or later. And when he does, you’re going to need me, Frank.”

He’d be a fool to deny it. He’s been acting like a fool more often lately though, so maybe denying it is an actual option. “I know,” he says in the end. Perhaps Murdock wasn’t expecting him to be so honest because he’s taken aback when the simple statement leaves his mouth.

“So if I give you his name, will you sit back and wait until we come up with a reasonable plan?” he asks.

“Yes,” Frank growls, feeling more and more like an animal caught in a trap.

After a few moments, Matt looks pleased with whatever signs he’s picked up from Frank, attesting to his sincerity. “Ivan Dragovsky. He’s known as the Russian.”

“Never heard of him before.”

“Me neither, but he’s here now. Somebody has hired him to kill you and he’s not leaving before he does.” Frank lets out a chuckle that doesn’t bear any trace of amusement but Matt still has to ask “You think that’s funny?”

“I think I had it coming,” he confesses and seeing Murdock’s jaw drop, he adds “What? You can’t tell me you haven’t thought it too.”

“I try not to think like that,” Matt chastises.

“Let me know how that works out,” Frank laughs at him. “So what do you propose we do?”

“Capture and deliver him to the authorities,” he says, making it sound too simple.

“No offense, but you didn’t actually see that guy, Red. I emptied my gun in his chest and he didn’t stop coming at me. He’s unstoppable. He’s…” he pauses. “He’s terrifying. If, and I have to stress that, _if_ we manage to capture him, it won’t be for long. It might not even be long enough to get the name of his employer. He’ll break loose and he’ll kill us, just like that.” He snaps his fingers. “I may or may not have a problem with that outcome. But my guess is you’re not looking forward to dying.”

“What are you saying, Frank?”

“You already know, Murdock. Time to cross the bridge. We can’t do this your way.”

He almost sounds sad and Matt can relate. It would be easy for Frank to walk out now that he has a target to look for. He could have done that by now, could have started looking for any other partner, if he needed one so badly, one that wouldn’t be opposed to killing. But he’s still here, speaking to him in a comforting tone. _This is different. Frank is different._

“Red, listen to me. You’re a good man. Going along with this won’t change that, okay? I’ll carry your sin, if you want. Got too many on my tab already,” he sighs. “Or you can let me do it alone. I wouldn’t blame you. And my death wouldn’t be on your conscience because I brought this on myself. Either way, it doesn’t change who you are.”

“You’re…” Matt stammers. “You’re looking out for me.”

“So?”

_Frank sounds relaxed. Frank is different. How is Frank so different?_

“I gotta clean up my act, Murdock. And I can’t do that with this Russian, and whoever’s paying him, on my back. So help me or don’t help me, I have to take him out.”

Matt thinks about Karen. She could be furious with Frank but news of his death would still destroy her. He couldn’t let that happen to her. He couldn’t let that happen to Frank either, especially this new version of Frank that can be reasoned with, that is sitting in his office talking to him like they’re friends. Maybe they are. He can’t let anything happen to Frank.

_Something’s missing. Something’s changed._

“Okay,” Matt nods but doesn’t relent completely. “If he doesn’t cooperate, we’ll do it your way.”

He half expects him to get up and leave but Frank walks up to him, with careful steps that have nothing threatening about them, and gives him a brief hug, patting him once on the back. “Thanks, Red,” he says in a low voice. “I know I’m asking too much of you. I won’t make you regret it.” His heartbeat is reassuringly slow and steady, soothing.

_Whatever it is, let’s hope it doesn’t get us killed._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Slower updates for a while because I'm going to visit my man in England. Thank you for your comments!


	8. Never

Regardless of how many other concessions she might be willing to make regarding her home, there was one thing where Karen drew the line and that was the size of her bed. It didn’t matter if she’d have to squeeze around it to open her closet; a bed should be large enough to roll around in by yourself and large enough to allow for breathing space when you have company. Luckily, the bedroom in this apartment had enough space for the bed of her dreams and for her to move around without bruising her legs on its frame. But her bed feels so small tonight, she thinks as she lays awake, looking at the ceiling.

_“Have you started seeing somebody else?”_

_“No, nothing like that.”  She couldn’t be completely honest with Tom but she could be open about some things. “But there was someone. Someone important.”_

_“You haven’t told me this before.”_

_“I didn’t think I should. It’s a very unpleasant subject.”_

_“What happened? If you don’t mind me asking.”_

_“He’s gone.”_

_“I’m sorry, Karen. I didn’t realize…”_

_Of course he thought she was talking about a dead lover. Unfortunately, it wasn’t too far from the truth. For all intents and purposes, Frank was dead. He’s been dead for a long time._

_“It’s okay, I… It’s okay. I shouldn’t even be telling you this.”_

_“You have to tell someone. And I’m here, listening.”_

Tom had smiled like the topic wasn’t hurting him but Karen knew it did. He reminded her of herself, how much it had hurt to listen to Frank, reminded her she shouldn’t tell him anything, but in the end, it had made no difference. She’d just started pouring her heart out to him because she needed somebody, anybody to listen and even though her friends cared very deeply for her, she couldn’t tell them these things. Things like how she sees stars when Frank walks in the room -saw, walked, she’d have to be careful with her tenses, put it in the past- how he took her breath away. Tom didn’t seem to mind, even when she asked him if he thought people only knew love like this once, something she wasn’t sure she believed herself. She’d hoped he would say no.

_“I don’t know, Karen. I hope not, for your sake.”_

_“Because it’s pathetic, right?”_

_“Because it’s heartbreaking.”_

He had reached for her hand in a tender gesture of companionship and his fingers had tangled in hers clumsily, like they were back to those first stages of dating when no movement felt natural or effortless. And she’d let him, thinking his delicate hand held the comfort she needed so much. It didn’t.

_“I can’t compete with a ghost.”_

Karen knew the feeling all too well.

When she’d agreed to go out with him, her mind was only focused on hurting Frank. The look in his eyes hadn’t escaped her. He was desperate, he would have done anything to keep her from leaving, he would have jumped off a freaking bridge if she’d asked him to.

_“I’m not asking you to.”_

_“You’re too nice to ask me.”_

Aware of the limitations of their situation, they’d parted as friends after lunch, for which Tom had insisted on paying. Karen had gone back to the office and finding it empty, she felt like she could cry. There was a note stuck to her monitor. “Taking care of business. Murdock.” Murdock. Not Matt. If that alone wasn’t enough proof as to who had written it, the fact that she couldn’t recognize the handwriting was. She’d crumpled the paper, thought about throwing it in the bin and shoved it in the pocket of her jacket.

After she was done with work, she pretty much sprinted home, bumping into a few people on the way, not even apologizing. Her thoughts were in such disarray that she could almost hear them bouncing on the inside of her skull. She needed someone to make it stop. So she called Tom and though he could clearly hear the frenzy in her voice, he didn’t say no. Didn’t tell her to relax and breathe through the panic. She called and he came running.

Karen didn’t shy away from his hands rubbing up and down her arms, soft palms against her soft skin, didn’t fight him when he pressed his lips on hers, didn’t cry when she began drowning in nothing but softness that was too much to bear. That came later, with Tom lying under her, looking into her eyes and saying her name; in that moment, her imagination transformed the soft blue of his eyes into a dark brown that matched its softness, surpassed it even, for all the walls she’d had to tear down to get to it. And Karen had to bite her lip, so that she wouldn’t call out the name of a dead man.         

With his face practically buried in the pillow, Tom is now softly snoring beside her and she inches her way closer to the edge of the mattress, abnormally dismayed at the possibility of coming into contact with his skin by accident. He’s in the same spot Frank had been a few days earlier and even though the circumstances hadn’t been ideal, that had felt less like an invasion. Tom stirs in his sleep and turns to his side, his face now in full view. He looks like an angel, dreaming peacefully because no nightmares haunt him. For some reason, Karen doesn’t envy him this.

In the morning, he awkwardly stumbles out of her bedroom, eyes fluttering in her general direction but not fully meeting hers. Karen invents an excuse about having to meet Matt for breakfast and he buys it. Easily, too easily, she thinks. Outside her building, he pauses and gives her a shy peck on the cheek.

“Still too nice to ask?” he says. An observation, despite the question mark in his voice.

“I guess so,” Karen sighs.

“Will you let me try anyway?”

She nods, pretty damn quickly for someone who saw him as an intruder a few hours ago. “If that’s what you want.”

Leaving all shyness and awkwardness behind, Tom kisses her full on the lips, one hand in her hair, pulling her as close to him as he can. When they part, not as friends this time, Karen watches him leave with a smile on her face but her breath still intact.

She decides to actually bring breakfast to Matt, suspecting he might have given up eating altogether lately. He’s been looking a lot more pale too, most likely due to not getting enough sleep. The fact that they’re all adults shouldn’t stop her from checking in on him every once in a while; and it’s not like she fully trusts him to take care of himself anyway, despite her saying otherwise when asked. A box of donuts in one hand and the strongest coffee she could find in the other, she kicks Matt’s door gently. “Let me in, I come bearing breakfast!”

She hears footsteps, heavier than Matt’s cat-like step, and the rustle of fabric, like someone is putting on a coat. There are muffled whispers and Karen curses herself; he has company and she’s just ruined their morning together. “I’m going to put everything down and leave, okay?” she says. 

“No, Karen, wait,” Matt huffs and goes back to whispering angrily. She can’t make out the words, but it feels odd.

Then the door opens and there’s Matt, his posture tense but confident, and Frank, with his shoulders sagging, hands in his pockets like he wasn’t supposed to be caught here. At least not by Karen. The floor has his full attention, intensely as he’s staring at it, even when he takes a tentative step by Karen who is still dumbstruck by this unusual meeting. “He was just leaving,” Matt informs her, Frank already walking past her and scurrying off.

“Hold these,” she tells Matt, passing him the coffee and donuts and turning around to catch up to Frank before he turns the corner. “Hey, you can’t just do that!” she hollers after him.

He looks up, confused. “Do what?”    

“Matt is my friend! Mine, you can’t take him from me!”

“I’m not trying to take anything from you,” he says.

The wounded expression on his face turns her insides into liquid but she can’t let him make her lose her footing, so she thinks about how he keeps popping up everywhere, watching, always watching and that’s so aggravating, she could kick him. “You keep stealing from me! Moments of my life I didn’t give you permission to take, now my friend. You have to stop!”

Frank feels very much like a dead man walking. That shouldn’t be surprising, considering his line of work, but it is. He watches Karen circle him, keeping a safe distance, almost as though she’s scared that, if she comes too close, they might crash. “I’m not taking anything, Karen,” he tells her and lowers his eyes once more. “I’m out, okay? I was never even here.”

“You’re never anywhere! You’re a damn ghost, sneaking in and out of people’s lives as you please, stealing bits and pieces so you can pretend you have a life of your own.”

He knows her assessment is way off base, but it still hurts to hear.

“You are nothing but an echo,” she goes on. “I see you standing here and you look so solid, like you’re a real person but if I try to touch you, my hands will go right through you.”

That sounds more accurate. That’s exactly how he feels some days and then he has to convince himself that this life is real, that he is real. It’s just a matter of finding an anchor to secure him to this world. And he has. Needing to prove the same thing to Karen, he moves closer, takes her hands and places them on his chest, pushing against them just a little, just enough. But she smirks and pulls back.

“It was just a figure of speech.”

“Give me a few days to deal with this Ivan guy that’s after me and I promise you-”

“No more promises,” she cuts him off.

“Karen,” he says and she can hear the quiver in his voice. “Karen, please, don’t do this. You’re all I have,” he whispers, hoping Murdock won’t catch that but knowing he probably will. 

“Then you have nothing,” Karen says nonchalantly, like she’s just talking about the weather, ‘yes, it does look like rain today and I didn’t bring my umbrella’; but her eyes are harsh on him. Frank can’t pretend she doesn’t look exquisite as she delivers the blow that shatters him. This makes him want to retreat, withdraw back into darkness and forget he ever dared to wish for light. He takes a step backwards just as Matt calls out to him from the door and Karen’s head snaps to his direction. “You’re next, buddy,” she warns.

When she turns her attention back to Frank, he’s already halfway down the stairs and she only catches a glimpse of him as he casts a sorrowful look at her. The two seconds that pass before he’s completely lost from sight are devastating. Karen exhales slowly, feeling too tired and too energetic all at once. She pushes past Matt and he tries to close the door behind her, burdened as he is with donuts and coffee.

“Are you and Frank best friends now? Is that it?” she questions him.

“We have a cautious friendship,” he admits and doesn’t need to add ‘but a friendship all the same’ because Karen gets it and stares at him in disbelief.

“The Devil of Hell’s Kitchen and the Punisher? Do you have any idea what this will do to your reputation if you’re ever seen working together?” she exclaims, crumpling on his couch like somebody just stole all the bones from her body.

He raises his eyebrows. “I’m a little disappointed in you, Karen. I didn’t think you cared about reputations.”

“I don’t,” she mutters.

“Then what is this about?” Matt continues, taking a long sip of coffee. The longest of sips, if such a thing is possible. Almost as if he’s trying to piss her off with his silent Catholic judgement.

It’s about what is mine and what I want, she thinks of saying. But what she wants isn’t as easy to define, so she doesn’t say anything, shrugging her shoulders instead.

“Karen,” he says again, “for what it’s worth, I think you’re being too hard on him.”

This is unbelievable. Karen can’t believe she’s just heard these words coming out of Matt’s mouth. She starts laughing before she can bite her laughter back. Of course, they’ve always had more things in common that either of them cared to admit. It was only a matter of time before Frank and Matt became friends. It’s crazy, it’s ridiculous, it’s absolutely insane. But it also makes perfect sense.

“You,” she tries to say between fits of giggles. “You shut your mouth. Just eat a donut and shut up.”

Matt approaches her and places the box on her lap, waiting while she picks something without sprinkles and then contemplating her reactions as she starts eating it silently. He places the coffee on the table in front of them, sits beside her and sighs. “We had a really tough night and he needed a place to crash.”

“Did I ask?” Karen snaps at him.

“I’m telling you anyway.”

“I wish people would stop offering me things I didn’t ask for,” she tells him and while Matt has no idea what she’s talking about, it doesn’t sound like he should ask for clarification. They let the statement fade away as they focus on eating and drinking coffee, and though Karen returns to her normal, cheerful attitude soon enough, Matt notes some difference in her pulse, something weighing her down. He wishes he could pull and stamp it out, but only Karen can do that.  

Frank is doing his best to move away from the crowded streets in Murdock’s area before he can sit down and wrap his head around Karen’s words. This city is so big, he could disappear in it if he wanted to, right? Find the place where the lowest of the low go to fade out, join them as he should have already done perhaps. There’s too much noise, he can’t focus his thoughts, he’s reeling. Gotta focus, gotta get the Russian off his back but for what purpose? All the fighting he’s been doing recently was so that he could find his way back to Karen. Without her, what is there to fight for?

“Life!” a small man yells in his face.

He looks too enthusiastic for someone in this state, drunk off his face before noon, barely able to stand. He’s on the verge of toppling over and Frank grabs his arms to steady him. “What?”

“Very truly I tell you,” the man exclaims triumphantly, explaining nothing, “whoever hears my word and believes him who sent me has eternal life and will not be judged but has crossed over from death to life!”

“Yeah, yeah,” Frank mumbles as he tries to get away from him. Hanging out with Red provides all the exposure to religious crap he can endure; this is just too much.

The man steps in front of him again, fixing him with a wide-eyed glare. “Cross over,” he says in a low tone, then merges with a group of pedestrians and swallowed by the crowd, he disappears. Frank shakes his head. Was that meant to be a warning? A sign? He doesn’t believe in signs. He believes in material evidence, smoking guns and blood. Blood spilled, more accurately. Whether it’s his own or somebody else’s matters very little.   

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's a nice day in Lancaster and I just managed to sit my butt down and do a bit of writing. Was it worth the wait? Let me know, I don't know if I'm doing anything right unless you tell me!  
> Thank you for all the comments and kudos! ❤️


	9. At some point

The only way to pass the time while they’re lurking on rooftops, trying to track down their Russian enemy, is conversation. It didn’t come easily at first, but after a bit Frank seemed to loosen up and actually speak, instead of grunting his responses. And that, eventually, led to a troublesome conclusion. Because Matt had thought, at some point, that Frank Castle could be reasoned with. Why was that again? As they disagree on one specific topic for the hundredth time, he can’t catch a single trace of logic in what Frank is saying. Not that he’s being entirely unreasonable, it’s just that Matt doesn’t like this frame of mind and he’ll fight against it as long as he draws breath.

“It’s not an option, Frank. Just drop it,” he huffs, hoping that Frank will finally agree with him.

Frank sighs the way only a parent can, after having told their child again and again that they’re not getting a puppy. “It might not be a matter of options, Red. Maybe we won’t get any. Have you thought about that?”  

Yes, he has, in fact, thought about it. What if there’s no way to win this fight? The Russian could very well be the definition of unbeatable, so what do they do in that case? But what Frank is suggesting isn’t something Matt could live with.

“Murdock,” Frank pushes, “you have people to protect. One man shouldn’t get in the way of that.”

Matt listens to the sounds of the city below, the uproar of life, which would go on with or without Frank. Of course he needs to protect these people; besides the obvious two Frank didn’t mention by name because he didn’t really have to. “The point of all this was to help you take the Russian down, so you can have a normal life afterwards. Isn’t that what we’re supposed to be focusing on?” he says with just a tiny hint of spite in his voice. “Isn’t that why we agreed to do it your way?”

“Yeah, but if we can’t-”

“I’m not going to abandon you, Frank,” Matt interrupts him. “And maybe you should stop asking people to do that. Hasn’t it cost you enough already?”

Frank clears his throat but doesn’t say anything else. He leans against the ledge of the roof and looks through his sniper scope, knowing in his gut that he won’t catch sight of anything new. No sign of the Russian, yet again. It’s been a week now and either that monster doesn’t even show up or, when he does, he disappears quickly, somewhere around Scarsdale. How a man of that size manages to disappear is a wonder. They’ve tried locating him in the area where Frank first encountered him but to no avail. It’s like he materializes suddenly in random spots in the city. If that is the case, and it doesn’t sound too far-fetched with all the supernaturally gifted people popping up all over the place, then Frank is simply screwed.

He looks through the scope one more time. “No sign of him. Are you getting anything?”

A few moments pass and then Murdock shakes his head. Absolutely nothing.

“Maybe we’ll have more luck tomorrow,” Frank says. “A change of tactics wouldn’t hurt either, this isn’t working.”

“I’m open to suggestions.”

“Spreading out would be the most logical thing. You take one side of town and I’ll take the other.”

“So, what happens if he shows up and attacks you? How am I going to reach you in time? Remember, teleportation isn’t one of my abilities,” Matt scoffs.

“Okay, not two different sides of town maybe. Just different sides of the street?”

Sure, he concedes to that, but won’t relent when it comes to his life being saved. Matt can’t help but snicker. “That works for me because I can hear you just fine from a distance. But how will you hear me, if I need to warn you about something?”

“Radio, earbuds,” says Frank, in the most patronizing tone he can summon. “Technology is your friend, Red.”  

“I need both my ears,” Matt tells him slowly, returning his disdain.

Frank rubs his face and sighs. “But you can still do your thing with one ear, right?”

“I can but it isn’t the same.”

“I’ll take it,” Frank responds. “Can’t afford to be picky right now. And just one of your ears is more useful than five trained soldiers at this point.”

“But-”

“Murdock, if we’re ever going to find our friend Ivan, we need to be more flexible. Sitting in one spot all night doesn’t seem very flexible to me. Maybe I need to be out on the street while you give me the bird’s eye view,” he suggests.

Matt nods reluctantly. “And if that still doesn’t work?”

It takes a moment before Frank responds. “We bait the hook and wait for the fish to bite.”

“Why does every one of your plans involve you being in serious danger?” Matt should have known he wasn’t going to like his idea. He has come to realize that Frank doesn’t pause before answering, unless he knows he’s going to say something which will cause a negative reaction.

“It’s me he’s looking for,” he says simply.

And it’s true; the Russian isn’t looking for anybody else, not to their knowledge at least, so luring him out of hiding by dangling Frank in front of his nose makes sense. But Matt doesn’t like that prospect and, he suspects, neither does Frank. Matt lets out a deep sigh. “So, radio equipment,” he says in order to avoid the bait discussion entirely.

“I’ll bring it tomorrow, give us a chance to try it out,” Frank nods. That’s something he’s been doing a lot lately, nodding, because it irritates Murdock. And Frank thinks that irritating Murdock is funny.

“Grow up, Pete,” Matt chides, trying to suppress the good mood Frank’s little games put him in.

“Given another ten years, I might,” he responds with a low laugh. “But maybe that’s too ambitious.”

“Resignation doesn’t look good on you,” Matt remarks, because there’s that missing thing again, unbearably loud in its silence. Not being able to figure it out is unnerving.

Frank chuckles, avoiding a tasteless joke about Murdock’s sight. “I don’t know what you think you’ve picked up, but it isn’t resignation.”

“Then what is it, Frank?”

“Goddamn it, Red!” He sighs again. Murdock doesn’t and won’t understand, _refuses_ to understand. “I’m being realistic, okay? I’m not throwing the fight, I’m just saying there’s no sense in both of us dying.”

They’re at a stalemate again. Frank won’t let it go and Matt won’t yield, so what is the point of bringing it up time and time again? They can’t even agree to disagree and that’s more reason to be disgruntled. “Nobody’s dying,” Matt tells him, pig headed and valiant as ever. Frank resists the urge to pat his little head.

“Pray on it, yeah? Increase our chances,” he mocks and sort of admires Matt for not reacting to the comment. But if all they have in their arsenal are beliefs and good intentions, the Russian is going to wreck them. Murdock’s god ain’t gonna lift a finger to save Frank’s sorry ass.  

Matt says his name quietly and when Frank turns to look at him, he’s surprised by how easily Murdock merges with the shadows, almost like they’re his natural habitat. He’ll probably never get used to that. “Have you thought about Karen at all? What she’d do in this hypothetical scenario where you let yourself be killed?”

“Jesus Christ, I’m not…” Frank rubs his forehead in complete and utter exasperation. “I’m not letting myself get killed, can you get that through your thick skull, Red?”

“Have you thought about her?” Matt insists, ignoring his statement as though it was never spoken. Maybe Frank is telling the truth and that’s fine, that’s just perfect. But what he needs to consider and prepare for, is the possibility that Frank is lying.

“Yeah, I’ve thought about her. Haven’t been able to think about anything else.” He lets the words slip out without thinking. What he doesn’t say is that he ran into Karen just this morning. No, ‘ran into’ makes the encounter seem more physical than it actually was. Frank saw her -with her boyfriend- as he was about to cross the street and froze in his place. Tom was telling her something and she was listening, though it looked to Frank like her attention was elsewhere; then Tom had leaned in and kissed her cheek. The ease with which he had done it made Frank’s heart race. A man kissing the woman he loves, in public, where everyone could see, without worrying. A common occurrence. An extraordinary thing. 

Karen had seemed surprised for a moment, but she’d responded with a grin and, for some unknown reason, almost as though she was searching for something to distract her, she’d looked up and caught Frank’s eye. Over the noise and traffic, Frank saw her shoulders relax and her grin become broader, practically heard her sighing peacefully, before she reminded herself they weren’t the only two people in the street and reverting to her previous stance. Frank had smiled back, unsure if she’d seen it but did it matter anyway? All that mattered was that Karen had smiled to him. And yet, Tom Rayner, oblivious to everything, as usual, had slipped his hand into hers and pulled her away. He’d done that with ease too, like she belonged to him. Frank wanted to smash his face in.

“If this is your idea of motivation, it’s kinda cruel, you know,” he tells Murdock.

“Anything to stoke the flames,” Matt smirks cheerlessly.

“Spoken like a true devil,” Frank retorts as he makes his way down the fire escape.

***

“If we’re late for the deposition because of your stupid tie…” Karen mumbles.

“We won’t, just help me,” Matt reassures her, handing her a simple black tie as she tosses the one he was previously wearing on the floor.

“Where did you get that silly thing anyway?” she asks, taking another look at the comical design of Jesus on a donkey. She gets the joke, she really does, but she can’t help thinking that this is just a horrible waste of fine silk.

“I could blame Foggy for sneaking it into my closet but we both know he hasn’t been spending time at my apartment lately,” he grunts. “There’s only one person to blame for this.”

“You’re playing pranks on each other now? Things are getting serious,” she laughs. While Frank has his own, odd sense of humor, she’d never have thought he could do this, or even think of doing it. But she’s glad he did, it’s a good sign. It reminds her very much of a resurrection, though a painfully delayed one.

“I guess so,” Matt chuckles in response.

She inspects her handiwork and pats the knot. “Done. Ready to go?”

Matt nods and takes a step forward and Karen turns around, ready to follow his lead. But then, lightning-quick, he brings a shaky hand to her wrist and gives it a firm squeeze.

“We don’t have time for this!” says Karen and whips around in time to register his soundless gasp, immediately knowing something is very, very wrong.

“Karen, step away from the door,” he whispers and she complies, because his voice sounds small and strangled enough to make her flesh crawl. “Go sit at your desk like everything’s normal. Let me do the talking. And whatever happens, stay calm, okay? I won’t let him hurt you.”

She quickly moves around him and sits in her chair, placing her bag right by her leg, so she can reach into it and grab her gun, if it comes to that. She wants to ask Matt who’s coming, what’s wrong, but when the door slowly opens, she finds her voice unavailable for the foreseeable future. The light that usually comes through their open door is, at present, completely blocked by the man that’s standing behind it, casting an ominous shadow in the office. For a moment, she believes he might not fit through it, its frame being too narrow for a person of his size, but he manages to slither in like a colossal serpent, surprising her with his graceful agility. Like everything’s normal, Matt said. But this person isn’t normal, so how is she supposed to react with anything other than awe and bafflement? At least she lets her mouth hang open only for a couple of seconds, as the man moves to the middle of the room and stands still, towering over the both of them and examining them with his cunning eyes.

Matt smiles politely, making sure to bump into him and apologizing profusely, just to ensure that his blindness is evident. He probably thinks this makes him seem like less of a threat, but the other guy is just too big and too wide to be afraid of a teeny-weeny thing like Matt. Karen doubts there are many things he could perceive as threats; he probably knows no fear. She wonders what that’s like.

“You can’t see,” the man states the obvious, sounding like he’s just written Matt off. Not as a potential threat but as anyone of consequence, in general. His voice makes Karen’s stomach clench. It sounds like huge boulders rolling down the side of the tallest mountain. Is it even human? Is he?

“No, but I assure you I’m quite a competent lawyer.” Matt smiles like he has no care in the world besides securing a client. “How can we help you then?” he says sweetly.

“You are the lawyers who defended Frank Castle,” the Russian rumbles.

Matt scowls very convincingly. “Ah, yes,” he replies. “We took his case a few years back, thinking it would help our business. And although it did help somewhat, it was very unpleasant for everybody involved. My partner still has nightmares about it.”

Karen wonders if, like Matt, this man can tell when people are lying to him too. She’s too scared to think of what will happen to them if he can. The Russian’s eyes settle on her for a while and she does her best to force a smile at him. It feels like it lasts for centuries. Then he looks back at Matt with a vague expression of disgust.

“You know where to find him?” he asks.

“The Punisher?” Matt’s eyebrows shoot up like he’s just heard the most insane thing. “Oh, no! If I did, I would have gone to the police. He’s a dangerous man.”

“Then you are no use to me,” the Russian decides and turns his glare to Karen again. Karen hopes her expression conveys shyness instead of the complete and utter horror she’s feeling. “Do you know where Castle is?”

She shakes her head slowly, eyes wide and innocent and absolutely terrified.

“Karen?” Matt says. “She’s just a secretary, she doesn’t know anything.” Even though she knows he’s only doing this to protect her, Karen feels slightly annoyed at his comment.

“Her name is on the door,” the Russian says, an incredulous shadow in his eye.

Matt chuckles in a way that makes him seem more arrogant than he is, much more conceited. “There were some mix ups with the mail, it seemed like a good idea at the time.”  

The Russian, thinking there’s nothing these two could help him with, starts maneuvering his body towards the door. But Matt’s performance isn’t finished. He reaches for the man’s wrist, but his hand, not being big enough to wrap around it, simply rests there in a gesture that could be misunderstood for tenderness. “Sir, why would you go looking for Castle?” he says, managing to fill his voice with what sounds like genuine concern. “Don’t you know what he’s done? He’s a murderer. He’s going to hurt you.”

Pulling his arm away from Matt’s touch, the Russian smirks with immense pleasure. “He can try,” he says as he makes his exit, seemingly excited by the prospect of being hurt by the Punisher.

Karen is overflowing with questions before the door even closes properly, but Matt raises his palm, silently asking her to wait just a bit more. They both hold their breaths for a little while, too shaken by the weird experience. After five full minutes, he puts his hand down and Karen notices that he's began to tremble. This was too close. Danger doesn’t usually come knocking at their office door. Her knees feel weak as she approaches him.

“This is the guy?” she asks and her voice is barely more than a terrified whisper. "The one after Frank's head?"

Matt nods solemnly and she covers her mouth with her hand. Frank has gone up against the worst possible people and emerged beaten and bloody, yes, but also victorious. But this specific person makes Karen worry more than anything. How do you defeat a mountain? How do you pierce a rock’s skin? There was a time in her life she’d thought Fisk was the scariest man she had ever met. The Russian is three times Fisk’s size and Karen wonders if the person who hired him has even half the amount of power Wilson Fisk had. Maybe he doesn’t need power, maybe all he needs are his fists.  

“Do you think that,” she asks again, grasping at straws, “if Frank disappeared…” She’s already making plans. _I could take him away, we could leave the country, we…_

“He would keep looking,” Matt confirms. “He won’t stop, will never stop.”

He makes it sound inescapable, this confrontation which might very well be Frank’s final. And Matt’s too, since they’re going into this together. Karen has questions. Many, many questions and suggestions but now isn’t the time to discuss them, she thinks as she wraps her arms around Matt and holds him close, long enough to hear his breath come out evenly again. Matt brings one arm around her waist, steadying her; she hadn’t realized she was still shaking.

“I won’t let anything happen to him, Karen,” he whispers softly.

Karen doesn’t say anything as she drags herself out of the comfort of his embrace. Promises are nice and all, but sometimes people can’t keep them. She imagines Frank, strong, tough, unbreakable Frank crushed in the Russian’s hand; she shakes her head to drive the thought away. “Please,” she begs Matt and he nods in agreement, both of them knowing very well there are some things even Daredevil can’t do.


	10. Tout de suite

They end up being late for the deposition and as Matt apologizes profusely to the witness and the court reporter, Karen finds it very difficult to care about anything happening inside that small conference room. Her role in this meeting is to pay attention to everything, she’s supposed to stay focused but it’s just too damn difficult. Her mind keeps dwelling on the Russian’s piercing stare. It somehow feels like he’s still staring at her, like his eyes are following her every movement as she stirs uncomfortably in her chair. Unfortunately, Karen knows a killer when she sees one and Ivan Dragovsky is definitely a killer. Probably a natural born one as well. And he’s after Frank.

Sensing her discomfort, Matt briefly places a sympathetic hand on hers, drawing her focus back to the job and she clears her throat, embarrassed.

He walks her home when they’re done, making zero effort at maintaining any kind of conversation and though Karen would normally feel agitated by this, she goes along with it. She doesn’t know what to say either. It’s been a long day and she just wants it to wrap it up, preferably with a drink or two. Matt checks her apartment, _just to be safe_ , and goes off without any warnings or words of advice. She would have liked to ask him whether he’s meeting Frank but what does it matter really? She supposes her curiosity only stems from some sort of consolation in knowing Frank isn’t alone, that he won’t be standing around full of fear, on his own- as she’s doing now, staring at the door since Matt closed it behind him. She grabs a half full bottle of wine from the fridge and decides to finish it in bed.            

The first conscious thought that goes through her mind before she’s even opened her eyes in the morning, is whether breaking up with someone before breakfast is only a bit rude or just plain horrible. While she’d believed she wanted to give her relationship with Tom another try, she was already finding it way more tedious than it should be. And now that a huge Russian assassin had turned up at the office, she’d rather not have Tom around. He could very easily get hurt and she can’t bear the thought; the notion is unpleasant -not as unpleasant as it should be however- but it helps put something else into perspective. If the ordinary human compassion she feels for Tom is enough to make her want to push him away in order to keep him out of trouble, how would she handle someone for whom she cared deeply? It’s not difficult to answer that; in fact, it’s as easy as pulling a trigger. She tries not to groan as she slowly opens her eyes, a migraine reminding her why she doesn’t drink red wine anymore.

She’s taking slow gulps of black coffee with her eyes closed, when a text makes her phone dance on the kitchen counter. Texts are fine; they mean there’s no immediate danger, no urgency, she comforts herself, as she brings the astoundingly heavy object closer to her face. Her fingers find the challenge of holding on to it much harder than it should be, even before she sees Tom’s name on the screen. This time, the groan escapes her and she puts both the phone and her mug down, resolving to go and stand in the shower until her migraine subsides. Three minutes after stepping into the shower, she actually remembers to turn on the water too.

Later, when she feels like she’s ready to deal with it, she calls Tom and they arrange to meet. Not for lunch or coffee, no setting where she’d be left looking awkwardly at her plate while explaining to him why they weren’t working. Again. He suggests simply going for a walk and that sounds safe enough; they can go their separate ways afterwards, so she agrees, almost enthusiastically. She just wants to be done with it, can’t wait to be done with it. Does that make her a terrible person, she has to wonder.

When Tom shows up, cheeks flushed and smile wide, Karen doesn’t feel bad about what she’s going to do, doesn’t think about his smile fading and decides that, if that makes her terrible, then so be it. She gives him a hasty hug and smiles back though; there’s no point in being unnecessarily mean.

“You didn’t call me last night,” Tom playfully complains.

“Too tired,” she lies. “I got into bed the moment I came back home. Went out like a light.”

As he leans forward, ready to press a kiss on her lips, Karen’s first instinct is to pull back. His expression is confused and displeased, but since this isn’t the first time they’ve done this, he’s quick on the uptake. He chuckles uncomfortably, shoves his hands in his pockets, not knowing what to do with them, and starts walking. She falls into step with him. They did say they’d take a walk after all. “Again?” he asks, probably hoping to be told that, no, he’s got it all wrong, but Karen doesn’t have time for the polite subtleties of breakups. She nods.

“I thought…” Tom says again. “I thought things might be different this time.”

“I’m sorry,” Karen tells him, even though she isn’t. Maybe a small part of hers is lamenting this choice, but it’s so tiny she can’t even locate it. “Things are different but I’m not. I can’t lie to you and say that I’ll change, Tom. I’m sorry,” she repeats, hoping he’ll believe her. “You must think I’m the worst.”

“Believe me, I wish did.” He sighs. “I’m kinda in love with you, Karen.”

Karen stops moving. “Oh,” is all she can think of to say. Would it be a mercy to tell him she doesn’t feel the same way, that she couldn’t, ever? Surely, two breakups in a row should convey the message. Even someone as innocent as Tom can’t be misguided enough to think there’s still hope for the two of them.

“Who do I blame for this?” he asks, trying his best to still keep a smile on his face. “Is it your ghost?”  

“It’s me.” Her reply comes out a bit rough. “If you need someone to blame, it should be me.”

Tom hangs his head for a moment. “I don’t need anyone to blame, not really. Especially not you.” He shrugs.

Karen approaches him and rubs his arm. “Tom, I never intended to hurt you. And I did try to make it work. It doesn’t look like it, but I did.”

“No, I know,” he nods. “God, I feel awful.”

Karen takes a step back. She has no idea how to console him.

“Not because of you,” he rushes to explain. “I mean, yes, a little bit because of you. But also because I saw you trying, I saw you grinding your teeth, biting your lip, like it was torture. And I didn’t put an end to it.”

“It wasn’t torture,” she reassures him. There are other things that definitely count as torture; like wanting to ask Matt about Frank and stopping herself every time, knowing she could call him to her whenever she wanted but avoiding it, her fingertips aching to touch him but having her logic deny her the satisfaction. Compared to that, staying with Tom when she didn’t feel like it has only been a minor inconvenience. “We were good together, honestly. It’s just that…” She doesn’t have a proper excuse to offer him.

Tom cups her cheek tenderly, forcing her to look in his eyes. “You have to move on, Karen. Eventually. It doesn’t have to be with me, but you can’t spend your life being in love with a ghost,” he says. His admonition is almost a perfect duplicate of her own advice to Frank, but without the intense need she’d felt when she said it. It makes her feel like she’s watching someone else, an imposter, standing in that hospital room, reciting her lines without understanding what they mean. He doesn’t get it. He never will and that’s okay. There’s nothing wrong with the simpler kind of love, the kind that’s safe and easy and not the least bit complex. But that’s not what she and Frank have. And that’s okay too but in this moment, Tom’s words seem like a wicked joke and she can’t help laughing out loud. Tom is a bit startled as he withdraws his hand from her face.

“With the utmost respect, Tom,” Karen says as soon as she can speak again, “I can do whatever the fuck I want.”

She apologizes for sounding so harsh when she didn’t mean to be and he says he understands. Though she’s not sure he does, Karen doesn’t really feel like sticking around much longer to explain. After they’ve settled up, managing to part as friends for the last time, Karen walks away without hesitation. She knows she’ll never see him again, so she wishes him well, wishes him all the happiness in the world but she doesn’t feel the slightest temptation to look back at him. For some reason, that brings a smile to her face.

***

As Frank fiddles with the newly acquired equipment, Matt stands still, listening to the sounds below and growing disappointed that it’s only the usual pandemonium of the city he’s picking up on, instead of the heavy footsteps of the dinosaur of a person Ivan Dragovsky is. He hasn’t brought up his recent visit to their office yet, mainly because he doesn’t know how to begin. It would be fine if Karen was working anywhere else, but he’s afraid of how badly Frank will react to news that the toughest enemy he’s faced so far has come so close to her. Matt spent the entirety of the night before surveying Karen’s neighborhood, making sure there was no sign of the Russian. And there had been none. But he wasn’t sure he should tell Frank any of it. While Karen is definitely a fuel much stronger than revenge, she’s also Frank’s greatest weakness.  

“How’s that?” Frank asks suddenly, giving Matt a moment to get accustomed to the earbud he’s just shoved in his ear. Matt makes a face. It’s definitely not a happy face but, to Frank’s knowledge, Murdock is incapable of making happy faces, while being incredibly good at disappointed or annoyed ones.

“I don’t like it,” says Matt, sounding like a toddler. “It’s…” He tilts his head left and right. “It’s blocking too much.”

Frank places a hand on Matt’s shoulder and feels the tension trapped there. “Relax, Red,” he says. “Just give it some time.”

With the same disgusted look on his face, Matt nods, breathing slowly as he tries to focus. The sounds on his left side are distinct and clear, but where they should be bouncing off walls or other surfaces on his right side, there are only muffled tones and echoes that seem to fade before he can follow them. “This doesn’t feel right, Frank,” he grumbles. “It would be too easy to make a mistake.”

“You won’t.”

“But if I do-”

“I trust you,” Frank says in a steady voice, slapping his arm in a friendly manner and goes to pick up the radio. “You got five minutes to get used to the new state of things and then it’s show time.”

Matt thinks about sending Frank down into the street, risking him coming across the Russian while he’s roosting on rooftops with his hearing weakened, unable to provide assistance in time. “I’m still not sure about this,” he says. Frank doesn’t respond but he can hear him inspecting his gun, checking he has enough ammo. Matt wishes he could come up with alternatives, uncertainty growing inside him with each passing second. “I promised Karen…” he begins but Frank cuts him off.

“You’re wasting your five minutes, Red,” he grumbles, trying to mask the acceleration of his heartbeat with the gravel of his voice.

“I promised her I wouldn’t let anything happen to you,” Matt persists. “After our enormous friend paid us a visit at the office.” All sounds of activity coming from Frank’s direction stop immediately and he knows now he shouldn’t have mentioned it. “Don’t worry, she’s safe,” he tells Frank, hoping this will suffice to keep him from losing his mind completely.

“How do you know that?” Frank asks. He sounds angry. Very angry.

“He barely paid attention to her,” Matt exclaims. “He only came to see if your former lawyers knew of your whereabouts. And, trust me, my sightless fool act has only gotten better with time.”

“From my experience, you don’t have to try very hard to act the fool, Murdock,” he barks. “How could you let him get so close?”

“There was nothing I could have done,” Matt protests. “Do you think I want that monster anywhere near my friends?”

Frank sighs. “No, you’re right. The Russian wouldn’t even be here if it wasn’t for me. It’s all my fault. I keep putting you guys in danger.”

“It’s not your fault either, Frank. You need to focus on the task at hand, okay? We’ll take care of this and nothing will happen to Karen.”

“I hope so, Red, because if that asshole touches one hair on her head, I’m going to burn your precious city to the ground.”

“It won’t come to that,” says Matt, feeling the seething rage radiating from Frank.

“I hope so,” he says again, but this time it sounds less like a warning and more like a prayer.

There are times when Matt feels extremely uncomfortable being presented with confirmation of Frank’s feelings for Karen. This isn’t one of those times. Despite their significant differences, he has come to see Frank as a kindred spirit, not only because of how dedicated they both are to their respective causes, but also the force of their emotions. Matt has lost the love of his life twice now. He would hate to see the same thing happen to Frank. And even though he’d die before letting any harm come to Karen, Frank is close to losing her anyway.

“You should give her a call,” Matt says, trying to sound lighthearted.

When Frank replies, he’s back to his usual, bitter self. “What is this? You giving me pointers to get the girl?”

“Let me say this and I’ll never meddle again, I promise,” he chuckles.

“Sure, pigs might fly too,” Frank huffs. “Just get it over with.”

 _God, give me strength_ , Matt prays in his head. “You wouldn’t remember this, you had too much to worry about then to notice. When we came to the hospital, to offer you legal representation?”

Frank narrows his eyes at him, increasingly curious and hums in response.

“We were afraid of you, all three of us. Foggy won first place, being the most scared I’ve ever witnessed him to be. Who was the least scared, do you think?”

As if he really needed to ask. “Karen,” Frank tells him, absolutely certain of his answer.

“Karen,” Matt repeats, nodding. “She’d already seen you in action by that point, she had personal experience of your skills. She should have been terrified.” He pauses and lets out a little laugh. “We walked in your room, hand in hand. Do you remember?”

Frank really doesn’t remember, but that doesn’t stop the flood of envy from rising in his throat, almost choking him. Murdock has held her hand. He has held her face, kissed her. Frank already knew this, of course; he knows what people in relationships do. It’s just the thought that he might go to his grave without ever feeling her lips on his that makes his knees weak. And it makes him angry. Not with Matt, but with himself, for not doing better, not deserving Karen Page. And for knowing that he could do all the right things from now on, for the rest of his life and still not deserve her. “I don’t,” he finally replies in a low voice.

“Of course you don’t. Why would you? I remember it though, very clearly. Not only because she was my girlfriend at the time.” This sentence causes a strange reaction in Frank, something similar to blood boiling but with his right ear blocked, Matt can’t be entirely sure. “But also because I tend to focus on the tiniest things. It helps me with navigation.” 

“Is there a point to this?” Frank grumbles, his boots scraping across the floor as he paces nervously.

“The point is that after taking a single look at you, she let go of my hand. Immediately. I didn’t realize it then but it seems to me that something changed in that moment. She didn’t realize either, preoccupied as we were with preventing your execution. I’m not sure she even knows now.”

“Know what, Murdock?”

“That you were inevitable,” Matt tells him and hears him draw a sharp breath. “This thing between you, it was always meant to happen. There’s only the small matter of you letting it. So give her a call. Ask her how she’s doing. Let her know you’re okay, that she doesn’t have to worry so damn much. Let it happen.”

A few minutes pass in silence, during which Matt notices that despite the earbud, he’s starting to feel confident enough to let Frank go mingle with the crowd below. He knows he shouldn’t expect him to respond to the things he’s said. Frank can be the silent type, the unnervingly silent type but Matt has gotten used to that by now. “Ready to do this?” he asks.

“Yeah,” Frank mutters, making his way down.

When he’s out in the street, he pulls his hood up and makes sure Matt can hear him clearly, reminding him to keep a reasonable distance between them but no more than three blocks at a time. They’ve gone over this already, so Frank isn’t really sure why he keeps telling Murdock what to do. Perhaps it serves to keep his mind busy with things other than Karen and what being inevitable might mean. He considers the possibility of Matt just being inevitably stupid and wonders why he didn’t unleash the snark back on the rooftop. He can’t let that hopeless romantic get to him.

“Take a left onto 9th avenue,” Matt’s voice says in his ear. “I’m picking up a bit of commotion. Nothing too loud but maybe our guy has made an appearance.

“Okay, Red,” Frank whispers as he approaches the corner, keeping a steady, unhurried pace. “Remember, don’t go too far.”

“I’m only two blocks ahead of you,” he huffs. “I’m not exactly thrilled with this separation either.”

Frank shakes his head at Murdock’s choice of words and keeps walking. The streets are crowded, lively. It’s been a while since he’s been a part of the crowd, instead of a mere observer. He could fool himself into believing he’s just taking a stroll, like a normal person. He’s about to make a joke, something that might annoy Matt, when his voice resonates again. “He’s here, Frank.” The fear in his tone is, at the very least, confirmation of proximity. “The corner of 9th and 52nd. You should be able to see him.”

Yes, it’s easy to locate him, specifically because of all the people stepping out of his way, looking up at him in amazement. It’s not every day you see a walking mountain parting a sea of people. Even though he’s far enough to be a floating head above the swarm of innocent strangers, Frank eyes lock onto him. He slows his step even more, keeping the Russian in his sights, feeling too close for comfort and too far away at the same time. “You stay with him. Don’t lose him.” When Matt doesn’t immediately respond, he tries a more demanding voice, knowing that yelling at someone who isn’t there, like he wants to do, would only draw attention to him. “This isn’t the time for dramatic silence. You gotta talk to me.”

“Sorry,” he says. “It’s harder than I thought. I’ve got him on the wrong side. Maybe I should cross over, it would give me an advantage.”

“No time to do that now. Stay on track. You got this, Red,” Frank encourages him.

There’s a short silence again, shorter than the previous one. “No, I don’t,” Matt tells him. And then, promptly, “Stop. Don’t make another move.”

The fact that he’s very clearly panting isn’t a good sign, but Frank chooses to attribute it to his rooftop gymnastics instead of anything else. Nonetheless, he takes one more uncertain step before halting altogether, leans against a wall and hopes the horde of pedestrians is enough to conceal him from the Russian, should he decide to turn back. “What’s wrong?” he whispers aggressively into his jacket, listening intently for Matt’s reply.

“He’s stopped at the corner ahead of you. He’s just standing there,” Matt whispers back.

It seems silly that they’re whispering; there’s enough noise to provide sufficient sound-proofing and nobody cares anyway. “What’s at that corner?”

“A grocery store? I’m not sure. Can you see?”

Frank groans. He’s getting annoyed at the people bumping into his elbow as he tries to focus. The Russian’s head is still in the same spot, unflinching, like a caution sign. “Not without getting too close.”

“Give me a moment,” says Matt and Frank has to put up with a whole excruciating minute of intermission. “Yeah, just a grocery store,” he eventually confirms.

“Maybe he’s waiting for someone?” Frank asks and, again, as if doing it specifically to drive him mad, Matt doesn’t respond. “Red, I swear to God-”

Matt’s hushed voice interrupts him before he can articulate his threat. “Remember, he wants you off your game.”

“What?” he snarls, confused.

“You’re no good to anyone, if you’re not focused, Frank,” he goes on. “Don’t let him get to you. Let me handle this.”

Trying to make sense of this puzzle of insufficient information, Frank squeezes his eyes shut. There’s only one thing that Murdock could be referring to and he doesn’t want to acknowledge it. Normally, everything would be coming into focus; the path he should follow would be obvious, as though drawn in red paint, and he’d be methodical and competent. He’d be able to take down all the shooters and the bombers in the world. But this is different. Right now, he’s genuinely frightened, not only off his game but out of his mind even. “Where is she?” his voice manages to come out, too brittle for him to recognize as his own.

“You have to stay out of it,” Matt says again. “He’s using her as bait, you know this. Don’t walk into his trap!”

“Can you get to her first?” Frank asks, checking to see if the Russian is still in place. But no, he’s on the move. He’s very slow, almost sluggish but he’s closer to Karen than either one of them is right now. Sweat starts gathering on his forehead, his pulse racing as he takes a couple of steps forward, catching a vague glimpse of Karen as she exits the store.   

“Fall back and I’ll handle it,” Murdock advises.

“Screw this,” he says, picking up the pace. “I’ll delay him as long as I can. You get her out of there, you hear me?” he barks at Matt before ripping off his earpiece.

“Frank, don’t!” Matt says one last time, already calculating the quickest route. Frank is obviously going to get there first. Hopefully, he’ll buy them enough time and won’t get crushed into the pavement before he can reach Karen himself. One good thing has come out of this at least; he can finally pull out the earbud too.

Karen is about to close the zipper on her bag, when she hears her full name being called. It would sound strangely formal, if it didn’t sound entirely menacing. She recognizes the voice immediately, even though she’s only heard it once before. Knowing exactly who she’ll see, she looks up in slow motion.

“Good evening, Karen Page,” says Ivan, his teeth showing in a grin that reminds Karen of a shark. “I have some questions for you.”

“I can answer none of them,” she says, her hand digging into her bag.

“Как жаль!” he exclaims and starts laughing. “I was hoping you wouldn’t lie to me again.”

“Oh, I’m not lying,” Karen explains, throwing him her most harsh glare as her fingers wrap around her gun. “I’m just saying you’re getting nothing from me.”

The Russian examines her carefully, thoroughly amused, but also surprised by her reaction. A few people have paused to watch this weird encounter. He pays them no mind. “Will you protect Frank Castle with your life?” he asks her and Karen can tell he wants her to reply negatively. While she has no doubt he’d immensely enjoy torturing her, what he wants most is information.

“Yes, I think I will,” Karen tells him with a smirk.

As the Russian slowly raises his hand up, angling towards her so he can grab her more easily and she gets ready to pull the gun out of her bag, a dark figure leaps out of the crowd and latches onto him. The onlookers disperse screaming, a few slightly bolder than the rest choosing a safe distance from which to observe the incident. With one arm around Ivan’s broad neck and one leg wrapped around his bicep, Frank gives her a haunted look and starts shouting. “What the hell are you doing? Run, Karen! Just run!”

She has seen him in all sorts of distress before, but this is different. He looks absolutely wild with worry, his eyes wide, almost popping out of their sockets. Karen herself seems to be frozen into place, her knee joints feeling so stiff, they might break if she tries to move. She watches Frank’s expression change as he leans into the Russian’s ear, growling “You want me, you piece of shit? You got me!” and then biting down hard. The Russian yelps, his arms flailing around as he tries to twist in a way that will allow him to grab at Frank.

Karen puts one foot forward, thinking that maybe she can help, somehow, with a kick or something, because Frank is barely holding on by this point. Somebody takes hold of her forearm, pulling her back and she turns, hand clenched into a fist. “Karen, stop!” Matt brings his free hand up and blocks her punch. “We have to go.”

“No, we can’t leave him!” Her head spins back to Frank’s direction. He’s still tangled awkwardly around Ivan’s mass, his fingers raking over the man’s eyes in an attempt to mangle or incapacitate him in some way.

“Jesus Christ, Red!” he shouts at the top of his lungs again and Karen thinks his throat must be raw by now. It hurts her to hear him howl like that. She can’t tell if it’s just her imagination, but it seems like he’s crying. “Just get her out of here, please!”

Matt yanks her arm more forcefully. “The sooner I get you somewhere safe, the sooner I can come back to help him,” he tells her.

In a daze, Karen lets him drag her away. Her eyes are fixed on Frank, struggling against the Russian’s one-handed attacks. His gaze darts from her to his enemy and back; he appears to relax more the farther she gets and Karen feels like she could cry, except she’s too shocked for tears. The Russian stumbles backwards and the last thing she sees before Matt pulls her around the corner, is Frank still holding on to him as he falls on his back. Her eyes snap shut; she imagines every bone in his body breaking under all that weight and she whimpers, while Frank’s agonized shriek echoes in her ears. Somehow, this sound isn’t worse than his previous screams but it still tears through her, makes her stomach turn.

The air becomes thick, too thick to be breathable. All the times she’s been worried sick for Frank are concentrated into this one moment, which could very well be his final. _I should have stayed_ , she thinks when Matt shoves her into an abandoned building and tells her to stay put until he comes back for her. _I should have said something to him, I should have simply said his name, make that the last thing I ever told him, instead of those cruel words I didn’t really mean. I should have, I should have said…_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay! I hope this chapter makes up for the wait.  
> Also, we can't have a Russian character but no Russian being spoken, so here's the translation.  
> Как жаль - What a shame/What a pity


	11. Straight away

The Russian’s fist is as big as his head and Frank knows this because it’s just made impact with his face. He’d hoped to avoid it, especially in his current position, trapped between his foe’s heavy body and the sidewalk. He closed his eyes when Ivan’s knuckles came into view, almost as if he could wish the blow away. But the collision couldn’t be evaded and his head slammed back against the concrete, messing up both his vision and perception. He’s also pretty sure he heard his skull crack. Concussion, check; Frank adds it to his mental list of injuries for the night. Probably one or two fractured ribs too. If he’s careful -and lucky, maybe the list won’t be too long.

Extracting himself from this tight spot isn’t easy, but the Russian is also having a tough time getting back on his feet, thrashing like a flipped over turtle. Frank pushes against his shoulders with all the strength he has, slowly wiggling himself free. When his torso is finally relieved of pressure, he takes a deep breath and uses the leg that isn’t stuck under the Russian to kick his head, trying to speed up the process while doing a bit of damage as well. The Russian groans and whines as he turns to his side, allowing Frank to crawl backwards and put some distance between them before he’s had the chance to right himself. Even though it seems more difficult than usual, Frank gradually rises but, goddamn it, he’s already so tired.

 

_It's nothing against you to fall down flat,_

_But to lie there -- that's disgrace._

 

Several people have gathered behind Frank, forming a crescent-shaped barrier of flesh. Some of them have even pulled their phones out, recording this supreme fiasco. He wants to warn them to back off, but he’s still trying to catch his breath. He waves his arm, expecting them to take the hint but his effort yields no results.

“Holy shit, this guy is huge!”

“Is that the Punisher?”

“Should we call the police?”

The commotion is making him feel even dizzier, causing white flashes to dance in front of his eyes; maybe the concussion will prove to be impairment more severe than he thought. At least Murdock got Karen to safety, that’s what matters most.

The Russian straightens up and glares at him. “I know what’s important to you now,” he roars. “I know where it hurts.”

What he means is he’s going to use it- he’s going to use her. Light-headed or not, wheezing or not, Frank doesn’t take kindly to threats against Karen. And he’s going to break each one of the bastard’s fingers before he gets close to her again. “Want to hurt me?” he says. “I’m right here.”

“Yes, и посмотри на себя.” The Russian’s head turns up and his body starts rocking with a taunting cackle. “Look at yourself, you’re a mess already.”

Frank observes his face, the few scratches he’s managed to give him and the tiniest amount of blood trickling down his neck. That’s all the damage he did, that’s it. It’s nothing. Yeah, the big guy is right to mock him. But they’re not done yet. Wobbling slightly, he pulls out his gun and tries to aim between the Russian’s eyes. With two long strides that should make the ground tremble, his enemy approaches him and smacks the gun out of his hand. Frank charges at him, bellowing like a madman, only to have the Russian wrap a huge hand around his neck and lift him off the ground, as easily as one would pick up a fallen leaf.

His hold isn’t too firm but the pressure is enough to make Frank’s vision blur. A dark filter spreads over the world and he has trouble discerning what is real and what isn’t. Something is trying to crawl out of his throat, a cough or a whimper, except there’s very little air left in his lungs and it’s not enough to eject it. So it stays there, writhing and jabbing at him. He begins to worry. His face is too close to the Russian’s; his satisfied smirk can’t be the last thing he sees before he dies. Frank attempts a kick, his boot successfully finding the Russian’s groin, but even though the huge man staggers back, he doesn’t let go. He simply applies more pressure to his grip.

“I don’t care what it takes, what it costs, she said,” the Russian tells him in a low growl. “Make Castle dead. And I will make it so. I will bring her your head and I will be the man who killed the Punisher.”

Dead he might soon be, Frank thinks. That’s the only reason why the Russian feels reasonably confident to divulge this bit of information. A woman. A woman has asked for his head. His brain isn’t getting enough oxygen to follow the thread, figure out who she might be, what he’s done to make her send this beast after him. Ah, hell. He probably deserves it.

He wants to kick the Russian one more time but he feels too weak to even raise his foot. As his body starts feeling heavier, he wonders how bad it would be if he just gave up. Maybe there’s nothing after death or maybe hell is anxiously waiting to give him a warm welcome. Either outcome can’t be worse than the constant struggle his life has become. All his troubles would end, just like that; the Russian would have his kill, his friends would be safe again. Karen would be safe again. That thought fills his chest with a strange sort of peace. He could just let it happen.

But the funny thing is that when he thinks about Karen, his heart starts pumping blood faster; his veins protest against the force of it. It’s so intense he could explode. No matter how angry he’s made her, she’d tell him, order him not to give up.

_It isn't the fact that you're licked that counts,_

_It's how did you fight -- and why?_

 

It’s what he’s best at. Keep going. Keep fighting. _For Karen._ He has to find his way home.

Using up his last reserves of air, he manages to bring his foot high enough and deliver a kick to the Russian’s wrist. He feels the rough fingers loosen and, encouraged, he kicks again. This time, the Russian releases him and Frank falls back to the ground, huffing and gasping, as the world regains its usual texture with a violent burst of brightness. His enemy rubs his wrist for a few seconds and prepares to attack once more, but fate intervenes, in the form of one end of Murdock’s billy club hitting him right between the eyes. The Russian stumbles back and shakes his head in confusion.

Landing gracefully next to Frank, Matt offers him his hand and helps him stand up. Frank is so happy he could kiss him; he won’t, but he could. “Great timing, Red,” he says in a hoarse voice.

“Thought I lost you for a moment there,” Matt tells him.

“Sorry to disappoint,” Frank quips and Matt chuckles tensely in response.

Bizarrely, the Russian looks pleased with the new addition to the gathering. If Frank had to guess, he’d say it’s because he believes he’ll have both their heads as trophies before the night is over. But of all the possible endings to this, having his or his friend’s head mounted on a wall is the least likely. As the Russian starts walking towards them, Frank mutters instructions in a voice so low that it’s imperceptible to anybody but Murdock with his sensitive sense of hearing. Matt nods and launches himself at the Russian, spreading his club to expose the cable, wrapping it around the neck of their opponent and whirling around to rest on his back, pulling down with all his weight.

Taken by surprise, the Russian fumbles with the cable, but can’t get his fingers under it to tear it off. His face turns red with strain and his neck muscles bulge even more. Frank bends down, reaching for the KA-BAR knife sheathed on his leg and pulls it out in one swift motion. Then, he lunges at the Russian too, driving the blade into his thigh. The roar that escapes him resembles that of a bear. Frank’s lizard brain, overflowing with terror, wants him to run away, now; but he dismisses it, grabs the handle with both hands, pushes it further down and twists.

Ivan’s screams increase as he shakes Matt off him, strikes Frank’s face with the back of his hand, sending him flying a few feet away, and pulls the knife out of his flesh, immediately dropping it as though its mere existence offends him. Matt scrambles to his feet, preparing for the next blow but it never comes. “I underestimated you, дьявол,” the Russian growls at him, panting. “It won’t happen again.” Casting a malicious look at Frank, who’s still on the ground, he hesitates for a brief moment, but noticing how heavily his leg is bleeding, he decides to stomp off.

Matt runs to Frank’s side, listening for any serious unseen injuries. When he finds only the usual stuff, he lets out a sigh of relief and helps him sit up. “Can the world stop spinning for a few seconds?” Frank grumbles and rubs his face.

“I should follow him, Frank. He might lead me to his hideout. We won’t get another chance like this,” Matt huffs. “Are you going to be okay?”

“Yeah, I’ve had worse,” he replies, making a dismissive gesture with his hand. But as Matt gets ready to leave, Frank emerges from his muddled state just in time to ask “Where’s Karen?” It’s a good thing too, because focused as he is on the hunt, Matt wouldn’t have thought of her until much later, having left her frightened and alone in a dusty old apartment for hours. Karen is not one to be kept waiting. He curses himself for being so careless.

“She’s… hiding nearby,” he tells Frank and hears him shuffle clumsily to his feet. His balance is still off but he succeeds at standing up, at least for the time being.

“You track our guy, I’ll go get her,” he says.

“You can barely stand,” Matt remarks, getting agitated with the situation.

Frank stares him down, a tactic that should have no effect on a blind man but which, somehow, works surprisingly well. “I’ll go get her,” he repeats slowly and Matt gives him directions before picking up the Russian’s trail.

As soon as he’s gone, a young man comes out of the gathered crowd, his demeanor nervous and hesitant. And it should be, since he has the handle of Frank’s Smith&Wesson loosely held between his thumb and index finger, his arm extended as far away from his body as possible. He approaches Frank with small steps. “S- Sir?” he mutters, moving his hand in a way that makes it perfectly clear he means to return the gun.

With equally careful movements, to avoid scaring him more, Frank nods and takes the weapon. “Thanks,” he says. “Now get out of here, go home.” The man doesn’t need to be told twice. Reassured by the Russian’s departure, the crowd becomes bolder, moving closer to Frank and he decides to follow his own advice and get out of there. The building which shelters Karen isn’t too far away and he practically runs the distance, even though he’s exhausted and wobbly.

Everything hurts. The slightest movements cause more pain than he’d have expected. It even hurts to breathe. That’s good though, Frank thinks. Pain means you’re alive. Pain means there’s enough left of you to feel it. Somedays, it’s all he can hope for. 

Karen is plopped down on the floor, gun in hand, waiting for Matt’s return. Her mind keeps conjuring dreadful images. Frank shattered, destroyed, dead; truly dead. The setting doesn’t help either. An apartment drenched in darkness, wooden floorboards that creak each time the wind blows. A place meant for ghosts to dwell. She’s not scared. Not of the empty building at least. But every moment that passes without news of Frank is agony. She hates waiting. Whatever has happened, she’d rather know right away, be done with it. She wonders if they’ll let her see his body, if she’ll have to sacrifice another pair of shoes to be granted the privilege of saying goodbye.

When she hears the front door open, grateful as she is for the distraction, she jumps to her feet as quietly as she can and takes cover behind a wall. The footsteps making the floor shake are heavier than Matt’s stealthy movements and that’s a legitimate cause for concern. She raises her gun, surprised at how steady her hands seem to be, and turns towards the noise. Despite her eyes being used to the darkness by now, she has to blink several times to make sure they’re not deceiving her, when the intruder puts up his hands and whispers “It’s me”.

As if she needed to be told. She knows this man’s figure, she recognizes his presence. She’d know him anywhere. A moment ago, she was certain she’d never see him again. The relief that washes over her at the sight of him is so intense she could get swept away by it. Frank senses her relax and they put their hands down at the same time. He waits quietly as she sets the safety on her gun and drops it back in her bag. What little light makes it through the door helps her evaluate his condition somewhat. His face is beaten up so badly it looks like one giant bruise. His lip is split and blood is already drying on it. She notices him tilting slightly to the right, avoiding putting weight on his left leg. How many more injuries she can’t make out in the dark? And yet, he’s still standing, still dragging himself to her.

“Are you okay?” Karen asks, a sob threatening to make her voice crack.

“I’m alive,” he tells her, forcing out a chuckle. It hurts his throat but they both need a relaxed sound to break the tension.

It’s funny, really, it is, she thinks as she starts crying. It’s funny and it’s ridiculous, and she wants to kiss him and choke him with her own two hands at the same time.

“Hey, hey,” Frank says, crossing the couple of steps separating him from her with an awkward limp and places a hand on her cheek, wiping tears away with his thumb. His skin doesn’t feel soft on hers but there’s more softness in this one touch than she’s ever felt in all her life. She leans into his palm and sighs, pressing her lips together to muffle her sobbing. “You’re not hurt, are you?”

“Me?” Karen laughs through her tears. “Look at you! Look at the state you’re in! And you’re asking if I’m hurt?”

Frank blinks at her. “Yeah,” he says, simply, matter-of-factly. “I don’t care about anything else.”

“You idiot,” she responds, her words not matching the kindness in her tone. “You… you absolute dumbass.”

She throws her arms around him and he brings his hand down from her face to wrap it around her waist. His groan doesn’t escape her but he doesn’t flinch and she doesn’t feel like letting go anytime soon. She tries not to shake too much as she cries though, worried about hurting him. “Red’s fine. I took most of the beating. Everything’s fine,” Frank whispers in her ear and his voice is warm and soothing, even though the content of his statement is worth a slap at the very least.

Everything’s fine as long as he’s the one beaten to a pulp. She’d yell at him for being so stupid, but she remembers the way he was yelling earlier and her fingers dig into his back. She’s going to have to disentangle herself from him sooner or later but not yet. Not yet. “I was scared to death,” she tells him.

“He’s not getting close to you again,” he says and she feels his fingers on her waist twitch.

Karen reluctantly pulls back, dragging her hands over his shoulders and down his chest, not ready to break contact completely. A shiver goes through his body. “I was scared for you,” she clarifies, since he’s too much of a fool to figure it out on his own.

“Karen…” Frank whispers, bringing both hands up to her face. He lets out a sigh and staggers, losing his balance.

Karen steadies him by placing her arm under his. He’s too warm, like he’s running a fever. “We should go,” she says. It’s more of a command than a suggestion and Frank nods, silently appreciating the support. A time will come when there will be no imminent danger, nobody will be hurt or bleeding and they will touch, without worrying about what follows after. When that time comes, Karen knows beyond any doubt, she won’t let him leave again. And neither will he want to.

They walk to his van slowly, very slowly, avoiding the streets which look the busiest, sticking to the shadows, where any are available. Frank keeps his head low, concerned about being recognized. Karen isn’t too worried about that, seeing as he looks entirely unrecognizable. The bruises on his face have spread so evenly that it seems like a permanent shadow is cast on his face. But more troubling is the fact that he seems dazed and that he keeps turning his head from side to side for no apparent reason.

“Are you still with me, Frank?” she asks as she helps him into the passenger seat. He’d insisted he could drive, but surrendered the keys with submissiveness uncharacteristic of him.

He nods. “Could use some sleep.”

“Not yet.” Karen doesn’t know how to actually treat a concussion, but its symptoms are evident and she vaguely remembers she shouldn’t let him sleep. “For now, I think we should keep talking,” she tells him after settling in her seat and starting the engine. “You have to tell me where to take you anyway. Hospital is out of the question, I assume.”

His head bobs up and down, like he’s fighting sleep. That much he can do, but providing an answer is more troublesome. He straightens up and his eyes widen momentarily. When he turns to her, he seems confused but it only takes a single glance at her for his eyes to become illuminated. Karen doesn’t know how long it will last, she just knows she needs to keep him awake.

“Where to, honey?” she says in a ringing voice, trying to coax him back to full consciousness, her fingers anxiously squeezing the wheel.

Frank stares at her with a quizzical look on his face. She’s afraid she might have overdone it, but the affectionate word slipped out of her mouth so effortlessly that she can’t feel sorry about using it. One corner of his mouth turns upwards at the same time that the fog descends upon his features again. Karen thinks he probably won’t remember it later and decides she doesn’t like it.

“Frank, where should I take you?” she asks again, more loudly.

He leans back into the headrest and sighs as he tries to focus. “Curtis. Curtis will know what to do,” he says eventually.

“Do we trust Curtis?” she persists, just to keep him talking.

“With our lives,” he tells her.

That’s all Karen needs to hear. Well, that and Curtis’s address.

***

Curtis has learned to expect all sorts of weird things happening in his life. He kinda had to, because living in New York comes with its own unique pack of surprises, even when superheroes aren’t doing battle in the streets. There are many strange things he could hear about or witness himself without batting an eye. So when the tall blonde approaches him from behind, as he’s about to enter his apartment building, he’s not concerned. He thinks she looks vaguely familiar and when she calls his name, he wonders, without worrying, if he’s met her before but doesn’t remember it for some reason. He becomes only slightly suspicious when he notices her white shirt is covered in dirt stains.

“You are Curtis Hoyle, right?” she asks, because he hasn’t answered her first call yet.

“Can I help you?” Curtis says, still appraising her.

She moves closer to him. “Frank is passed out in the van and I can’t carry him on my own,” she tells him in a low voice.

It’s the calmness with which her statement is delivered that makes Curtis blink excessively, not hearing that Frank is passed out anywhere. It’s also the fact that a woman like that, who looks like she’s not absolutely batshit crazy, has anything to do with Frank Castle. “Is he dying again?” he asks her, but he already knows the situation can’t be that dire. She wouldn’t be so composed otherwise, or at least he imagines she wouldn’t be.

“I hope not,” she replies, wide-eyed. “He was semi-conscious a minute ago. He’s not bleeding. He…” she pauses to anxiously rub her forehead. “He was talking to me.” Her bottom lip starts trembling. “Please, I don’t know where else to go. He said you could be trusted.”

Curtis lets out a long sigh. One of these days, Frank is going to end up permanently dead. But not if he can do anything about it. “Let’s go get that dumbass,” he says.

“Thank you,” Karen beams at him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Let's start with the translation of Russian phrases.  
> и посмотри на себя - And look at yourself  
> дьявол - Devil
> 
> Next: some verses used from the poem "How did you die?" by Edmund Vance Cooke. Everybody needs poetry in their lives and it's canon that Frank reads poetry, so I had to do it! But it's a beautiful poem regardless and I recommend you read it. 
> 
> And last but not least: thank you for reading and commenting! I appreciate any and all interactions!


	12. Now, then

“Coffee or beer?” Curtis asks after they’ve put Frank to bed.

He’d examined him thoroughly, coming to the conclusion that the concussion was the most serious of his problems and offered him painkillers which Frank had gulped down without a single complaint. Those should help with the rest of his ailments as well; the sprained ankle, the sore throat and the various aches and pains his battered body was experiencing. The only thing Frank had complained about was the fact that they’d have to wake him up every couple of hours, to check for any signs of swelling in the brain –or as Curtis had so delicately put it, that his brain didn’t finally get too big for his head. Frank had given his friend a delighted yet extremely groggy laugh, as Curtis gently lowered him back into the pillow.

“Uh, coffee. Thanks,” Karen replies without looking up from Frank’s sleeping face. If she’s going to stay up all night to watch him –and she plans on doing exactly that- she’s going to need as much caffeine as Curtis can offer.

His apartment is cozy, it feels like a home. It feels safe and she’s glad to know Frank has somebody like Curtis to turn to. Curtis, with his big hands that look like they’re built for breaking things, but that he has chosen to use for healing. There’s sweetness and light in him; she saw it when he smiled to her, reassuring her about Frank’s condition. She could have hugged him then, but she was already imposing with her presence there; she didn’t need to assault him with physical contact as well.

She keeps a close eye on Frank, finding his stillness astounding. She could have mistaken him for a statue, if it wasn’t for the steady rise and fall of his chest. How long has it been since he’s gotten a full night’s rest? Weeks? Months? Her mind doesn’t register the intention, but when her body inches forward of its own volition, she has to remind herself that crawling into bed with him would be unwise.

“It took me a while but I remembered you,” Curtis says a little bit later, carefully handing her a mug around which she wraps her fingers like it’s only just lukewarm, instead of scalding hot. “You’re that reporter. That Lewis went after.” He says it with a casual attitude, like he’s talking about the weather, as he pulls up a chair and sits beside her.

“Not anymore. I’m a paralegal now,” she informs him, hoping her silence on the subject of Lewis Wilson doesn’t make her look suspicious.

Her eyes are still fixed on Frank like he’s the center of the universe. The people Frank usually brings with him are either in need of protection or expect something from him, some kind of tit for tat arrangement. And then, there are the ones he can use as leverage. She doesn’t look like any of those types. So why is she still here? Why didn’t she leave the moment she delivered his friend to him? Frank has only mentioned her in passing but Curtis is willing to bet his good leg that there’s a lot more to this story. “I guess it’s much safer than what you did before.”

She finally turns to him with a shy smile. “Most days,” she says.

He isn’t quite sure how to engage with her. There’s something about her; she practically radiates warmth and kindness, which is reassuring, but she seems too concentrated on Frank’s Briar Rose impression to be approachable right now. The smile is a good sign though. It shouldn’t take long for her to loosen up. “Are you sure you don’t need a quick checkup too?” his protection instinct kicks in.

“Yes, I’m perfectly fine. I wasn’t there when…” She pauses and swallows hard. “I was whisked away before the fighting began.”

“So you don’t actually know what happened,” Curtis sighs.

“I have a vague idea.” Karen frowns as she picks up her phone. “I don’t know if there was any report on the news, but the internet never disappoints,” she says, scrolling through feeds. “Here.” She gives her phone to Curtis and sees his eyes widen with shock as he watches the footage. Thankfully, this specific video begins with the Russian already on his back, saving her from having to hear Frank screaming again. It’s not like the rest of it sounds fun, but at least the worst part is skipped over. Still, she avoids looking at the screen for most of the video’s running time, cringing each time Frank makes a pained sound.

“What the…” Curtis rubs his forehead when the video ends and returns her phone. He’s at a loss for words. “What the hell?”

Karen looks at him calmly, wondering if she had the same horrified expression painted across her face the first time she saw the man. “I know,” she nods. “I’ve met the guy in person. His presence is unnerving on its own, even when he’s not being aggressive.”

Curtis realizes he’s underestimated Karen Page. Her porcelain doll looks have tricked him into thinking she’s fragile, but if she can come face to face with someone like that enormous bastard and talk about it without shaking, maybe she’s tougher than she looks. She brings the mug to her lips and takes several long sips of coffee; it should burn her, but it doesn’t. “That was Daredevil with him, right? Helping him out? Have they teamed up or was it just dumb luck?” he asks.

“There’s definitely something dumb between the two of them, but I wouldn’t say it’s luck,” says Karen, a mildly sarcastic giggle accompanying her comment. “They’re working together. They have been, for some time. I had my doubts about their little collaboration at first. I’m glad to say I was wrong.”

“Sounds like you know them both well,” Curtis observes, expecting her to deny it immediately.

Karen examines his face for a few moments. It’s not that she’s said too much exactly; in fact, she’s barely said anything important to this man who has let her into his home, even though she’s a complete stranger. Frank told her he would, while she was trying to keep him awake on the drive here. _He has a big heart, he’ll let anybody in. I’d say that’s a problem, but not tonight_. “I know them both well enough,” she admits finally.  

Frank chooses that moment to stir in his sleep and Karen jerks up from her chair, hovering over him as her eyes search his face for signs of discomfort. But his features are soft and serene, despite the bruising. Curtis reaches over with his large hand, gently pressing on her shoulder and guiding her back down into her seat. “Relax, he’s fine,” he reassures her with his mellow voice.

“Are you sure?” Karen insists.

If she used this imploring gaze while asking him to jump off a mountain, he might actually consider doing it, Curtis thinks. “I’m sure,” he says. “But let’s wake him up, see how he’s doing. Put your mind at ease,” he finishes with a smile and feels immensely pleased with the generous smile she offers back.  

He goes over to Frank, checking his pulse and nodding to himself, satisfied with the 55 beats his heart is producing per minute. “And now for the hard part,” he tells Karen, pulling a small flashlight from his pocket. “Wake up, buddy.”

_There had been silence and it was stolen from him. Why won’t they let him sleep? He’s all worn out._

Frank moans, but doesn’t do anything else. Curtis shakes his head, forces Frank’s eyelid open and shines the light straight into his eye. Karen hopes Curtis has managed to find what he was looking for in the two seconds Frank gives him before reacting by squeezing his eyes shut and pushing his head back as far as it can go. “Come on, Frank,” Curtis coaxes. “Let me look in those beautiful eyes of yours.”

_The light that assaulted his eyes made his head hurt even worse. This is torture. He wants the blessed darkness back._

“Let me sleep,” Frank mumbles wearily. He brings his hand up and pushes against Curtis’s chest. The gesture is weak by Frank’s usual standards, but it is by no means feeble. Karen watches them push back and forth for a while and she might let this go on without intervening, if she wasn’t so worried about Frank getting hurt by accident. Curtis probably knows what he’s doing, but her heart jumps up to her throat every time Frank winces. “Stop being such a jerk, man,” Curtis grumbles.

“Frank,” Karen calls to him.

_Well, that settles it. When that voice summons him, he must obey. Sleep is for the dead anyway. Can’t keep her waiting._

Her heart flutters when his head snaps in her direction, his eyes opening without hesitation or further complaint. Even though he doesn’t seem to be fully aware of his surroundings, she can tell she has his attention. “Behave.”

“Yes, ma’am,” he says, almost mechanically. With a groan, he turns back to Curtis and allows him to flash the light into his eyes. This part of the examination doesn’t take long. Curtis pats his arm when they’re done -a gesture that reminds Karen of a lollipop offered after a visit to the doctor- but as Frank closes his eyes once more, his friend tells him they’re not done.

“What’s your full name?” Curtis asks.

“Francis David Castle,” he replies with a dull voice.

“When’s your birthday?”

“November 15th,” Frank says, frustrated at not being allowed to go back to sleep.

“What’s the name of this lady over there?” Curtis persists.    

Frank slowly opens his eyes, uncertain for a moment who his friend is referring to. Curtis points at Karen to help him and she thinks that it’s maybe one more test, to see if his eyes follow the motion easily. They do, finding hers again and he responds with a different tone this time, not flat like before. “Karen.” She wonders if Curtis can hear all that tenderness too, blushing when she realizes that it’s crystal clear; no one could mistake it for anything else.

“Full name,” Curtis reminds him, looking sideways at Karen.

“Karen Page,” Frank says, settling back into the pillow.

Curtis nods. “Do you know where you are?”

Frank glares at him. “In hell, apparently.”

His shoulders shake with silent laughter. “Head still hurts?” Frank is getting too tired for words so he hums in response. Curtis squeezes his shoulder. “Sleep it off, buddy.”

Going back to sleep is a matter of mere seconds. Curtis knows he shouldn’t be surprised at how well Frank seems to be doing. After all, nobody can take a blow to the head like Frank Castle. “See? He’s okay,” he says and takes his seat next to Karen, hearing the sigh of relief she lets out. “So how do you know this fool?” he asks. He’s surprised to see a rosy tint color her cheeks as she focuses her attention back to Frank.

“It’s a long story,” she tells him and grins, mostly to herself. “I tried to get him out of trouble once and he messed it up.”

Curtis nods. “Sounds like the Frank I know.”

“Then he saved my life,” Karen continues.

“And now you feel like you owe him,” he remarks.

Her features melt into such an adoring expression that it makes Curtis think he has no right to be looking at her. It also makes him think that despite all of Frank’s efforts to stay behind with the dead, there’s somebody that might be able to lure him towards the living. 

“It’s not as simple as that, mister Hoyle,” she mutters.

“We’re looking after an injured vigilante together, I think a first name basis has been established,” Curtis chuckles and then adds “Karen.”  

“Alright, Curtis.” She chuckles back. “Forgive my awkwardness. Clamming up when people ask me questions is a natural response for me. It’s just that I’m used to being the one doing the probing,” says Karen, letting him know she understands his curiosity and isn’t offended by it.

“You seem like a nice person, Karen, but I’ve been tricked by people that seemed nice before. I’m not going to interrogate you or anything,” he assures her. “I know my friend here very well. And he has the tendency, let’s say, to draw a lot of shit to my door, even if he doesn’t mean to. Now, some of that shit isn’t so bad. But some of it is the worst kind.”

“And you want to know which kind I am,” she says and Curtis nods. “It’s only fair.” She drains the coffee mug and puts it on the nightstand, only now noticing how red her palms are. “Honestly, I’m not interested in pretending I’m just a bystander who doesn’t give a damn about Frank’s fate. I got out without a scratch today, only because he ran to my rescue. And look at his reward.” Pressing her lips together, she gestures at Frank. “No, I don’t feel like I owe him. But we owe each other something, as much as he’s tried to ignore it, as much as he’s tried to make me turn my back on him. You see, Curtis, I’m the kind of shit that doesn’t go away. I’m the kind that will drag you kicking and screaming out of limbo, that will give you exactly what you need when you didn’t even know you needed it.”

Curtis draws back in surprise. Perhaps Frank has finally met his match. Gone is the fragile porcelain look of hers; in this moment, she looks fierce, her previous gentle warmth has been fanned into a roaring fire. She is as intimidating in her intensity, as she was in her gentleness. “Well, I hope he doesn’t kick too much,” he tells Karen with an amused grin.

“Not too much,” she laughs quietly, switching back to sweetness. “Not anymore.”

They settle into a comfortable silence for most of the night, after Karen divulges a few more pieces of information regarding the whole Russian disaster. Frank remains peaceful, except for the instances they wake him up, Curtis asking him the same questions each time. Frank complies; Francis David Castle, November 15th, Karen Page. The process would be nothing short of boring, if Frank wasn’t involved. Since he is, it’s pretty damn close to enthralling. After the second –or is it the third- time, his answers start coming much more quickly, almost like he’s memorized the pattern and is expecting it. Curtis tells her that’s good, it means his memory function isn’t affected, but that doesn’t stop him from demanding the same answers over and over.

With each passing hour, even though she’s been guzzling coffee like her life depends on it, Karen starts feeling her body grow heavier. Curtis has offered her the couch a couple of times, but she’s refused to leave Frank’s side. It doesn’t matter that he isn’t in danger, she’s not budging.

Matt calls in the small hours of the morning and Karen excuses herself to take the call. He sounds strangely energized, though she is certain he hasn’t gotten any sleep either. “I went by your place,” he tells her. “Then Frank’s. Then I got worried.”

Karen realizes she hasn’t the faintest idea where Frank lives. He could be living in the sewers for all she knows. “We’re safe,” she says, looking over her shoulder at Curtis’s back.

“Frank has to know, I found out where the Russian’s hiding. I have to tell him,” Matt responds in a tone of thrill that makes Karen want to strangle him.

“What you have to do is go home and get some sleep, Matt. It’s really late. Aren’t you exhausted?” She is, he should be too.

“We have to strike now, before he moves again. Frank wants to be done with it as soon as possible.”

“No! Frank is sleeping and I’m not waking him up. Not for this, not for anything! He has a concussion and he needs time out. And so do you,” she whispers angrily. “How efficient do you think the two of you would be now anyway?”

Matt has to concede. His adrenaline burst has brought him this far but it’s going to fizzle out soon. “Foggy is going to be furious when neither of us shows up for work in the morning,” he jests.

“Oh, you’ll show up for work,” Karen chastises him. “You’re going to be late but you’ll be there for your eleven o’ clock. I’ve already sent Foggy a text, he knows.”

“Whatever would I do without you, Karen?” Matt laughs.

“I wonder the same thing myself sometimes.”    

Frank is softly snoring when she returns to the room, making the situation seem just a tiny bit normal. It feels like she’s coming home after a long day of work and all she wants to do is crawl into bed with him and fall asleep in his arms. That might be a thing the future has in store for them, nights when nothing of consequence happens, and they’re just two ordinary people, resting in each other’s embrace. She resumes her position without delay, shaking the bout of melancholy out of her head.

Her brain is aware of everything that’s happening, which isn’t much honestly, just a round of the same, but she realizes she’s blacked out at some point when Curtis gently nudges her shoulder, telling her he has to go to work. The sun has come out, briefly blinding her as it peeks through the window. “Are you going to be okay on your own?” Curtis asks.

“Yes,” Karen replies, rubbing her eyes. “Yes, I’m good.”

She gets up and stretches, her muscles complaining about the stiffness spending a whole night in a chair has produced. A grateful sigh flies out of her mouth when she sees Curtis has already made coffee and she drinks some more, even if all of her body’s moisture has been replaced by it by this point. Curtis exits without a sound and she finds herself standing by the door, somewhat disoriented. This won’t do, not when she has to be alert and vigilant. She has to wake Frank up, ask him the unchanging set of questions, see if he can follow her finger with his eyes as she waves it across his face. She misses the time when she could pull an all-nighter without suffering the consequences of severe lack of sleep.        

Her movements are restrained, but she drags her feet all the way to Curtis’s room. It isn’t that far from the kitchen, even though it feels like she’s been walking for miles. Frank is, of course, asleep, with his arms resting at his sides. He’s stopped snoring and Karen is shocked to find she misses the sound. She moves closer to him and as she gently strokes his jaw, his lips part, letting out a sigh. Her fingers withdraw immediately.

“Hey, Frank?” she whispers.

“Hey, Karen,” he says drowsily. His voice is still hoarse and raspy, heavy with fatigue, but he seems more responsive than he was a few hours ago. “Are you coming to bed?”

It’s an enticing offer; her body definitely seems keen on accepting it, but she has a task to accomplish before she can even think of anything else. “What’s your full name?” she asks.

“Francis David Castle.” He sighs, opens one eye and looks at her, a bit annoyed. “My birthday is on the 15th of November and you are Karen Page,” he says in one breath. “Now can we, please, be done with the questions?”

“Yeah, okay,” Karen huffs, too tired herself to keep going. She sinks into her chair, thinking about the soreness of her back, when she notices Frank is still looking at her through one eye.

“Come to bed, Karen,” he says and moves over slowly, making room for her.

His tone is far too sleepy for her to understand whether that was an order or a request. It matters very little though, she’ll take either at this point. She leans forward and glides into Curtis’s bed; the soft mattress is a gift from the heavens and she’d like to stretch all over it, but she needs to be careful not to hurt Frank. She barely has time to finish that thought, before Frank puts an arm around her, pulling her close to him. “You been up all night?” he whispers close to her ear.

“It’s no problem, I’ve done it before,” she tells him. “Are you comfortable like this?”

“Snug as a bug,” his voice trails off.

Karen has to admit she feels the same. She lets her arm slide over his chest without thinking, as though things have always been like that and it’s only happening out of force of habit. It’s certainly a habit she wants to form because being wrapped in his warmth seems to have a healing effect on her. Or a hypnotizing one at least, as she forgets all about her soreness and all the worries and stress fly out the window. There’s only her and Frank, they’re alone in the world. She wraps her leg around his and thinks she’s not going to fall asleep, definitely not. But the rhythm of Frank’s breath is too soothing and her eyelids are already too heavy and Karen goes out like a light.     


	13. Passionnément, à la folie

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Full disclosure, guys. I've been awake for more than 24 hours now, so I don't know if this is actually any good. My brain is telling me that I like it, but it could be a wicked trick. 
> 
> As always, thanks for the comments and kudos!

Sometimes, when somebody has overslept, their body and brain unite their efforts into waking the poor person up with a violent jolt, reminding them there are things to be done which they have neglected. Admittedly not the best way to wake up. Luckily for Karen, her brain rouses her to consciousness before her body gets any ideas of moving, giving her time to gather her recollections of last night and not panic when she finds herself in a bed that isn’t her own. Her fingers reach out lazily, but Frank is no longer there. She remembers feeling him move at some point, remembers asking him not to go and then, his warm lips on her forehead and a whispered “don’t worry”. She was so out of it that she didn’t even realize he actually got up. That’s not necessarily a bad thing; managing to get out of bed on his own is an improvement, as long as he’s careful not to overdo it. Karen isn’t so sure she trusts him with that, but decides to let it go because she doesn’t feel ready to rise and shine just yet. 

She can hear hushed voices nearby and she opens her eyes to follow the source of the sound; the door is half closed, letting only a sliver of light into the bedroom, making it impossible to see what’s going on in the next room. She recognizes Frank’s voice -still gravelly, much less groggy than it was when she last heard it- and Curtis’s soft tones. Worried that they might think she was eavesdropping, she opens her mouth to let them know she’s awake, but her vocal chords are unwilling to cooperate. What a mess she is, with her dry throat and her complaining stomach; she doesn’t even know what time of day it is. How Frank is already up and running and she’s in such a bad state is beyond her. 

“I can’t condone a single thing of what you’ve just told me,” says Curtis.

“Why not?” Frank asks with a genuine note of surprise.

“Because it’s stupid, Frank!” He sighs. “I keep telling you, stop being an asshole, stop pushing people away. But there’s no point. There’s no point! Because you refuse to listen to me.”

“I’m listening, Curt. I’m all ears,” Frank assures him. “But what am I supposed to do, hm? You said you watched that video, you saw the guy. What would you do in my place? Would you let him get to her, put his filthy hands on her and…” There’s a scraping sound, like metal dragging on the floor and then a thud. Frank probably kicking over a chair. His gentle touch doesn’t extend to pieces of furniture.

“I’m not telling you to let him do anything to her. Look, since you won’t come out and say it clearly, I guess I have to do it for you. She’s important. I get it, okay? Don’t look at me like that.”

Karen has to wonder how Frank is looking at him. Is he upset to be found out or relieved that he doesn’t have to hide it anymore? A mixture of both perhaps? Or is he too busy counting the ways in which he thinks he has failed her?

“She’s important and you can’t stand the thought of her getting hurt. But don’t you think you should ask her what she wants to do first?” Curtis insists.

Yeah, you tell him, Curtis, Karen thinks, rising from bed and putting one foot on the floor.

“Of course I’m gonna ask her. What did you think, I’d shove her in a van, blindfolded, and ship her out of here?” Frank huffs.

“I wouldn’t put it past you.”

“Thanks a lot, buddy,” he retorts, knowing full well he’s not allowed to take offense to such comments.

“Look, you know her better than I do, obviously, but based on what I’ve seen…” Curtis shakes his head. “She’s not going anywhere.”

“I have to agree with that statement,” Karen steps in, surprising them both.

Frank stares at her. Her hair is all messed up and creases of the pillowcase are imprinted on her cheek; she looks goddamn adorable. But she also looks pissed off, so he’s going to have to tread carefully. “How did you sleep?” he asks in his sweetest voice.

Karen’s response isn’t verbal, but it’s clearly illustrated by her glare as she crosses her arms on her chest. She stands this way for a few moments and when the other two refuse to break the silence, she realizes that she has to be the one to do it. “Is there something you wanted to ask me, Frank?”

“It can wait,” he says and picks up the capsized chair by his feet, putting it back in its place.

Curtis starts furiously looking for his keys. “I’m going to give you guys some space.”

“No, please,” Karen runs to him. “This is your home and I’ve already put you out of your bed. I should be the one to go.”

Curtis rubs her arm, smiling. “It’s okay. I have shit to do anyway. Just try to go easy on him. No matter what he says, he’s still feeling the aftermath of that concussion.” Then he gives her a quick hug. “Take care, Karen.” And with that, he’s gone.

Karen turns to Frank, unsurprisingly finding him looking at his feet. If he was a different man, he might have given her a moment to get her bearings and maybe give him a hug, before forcing her into yet another quarrel. But if he was a different man, she would have never fallen in love with him. “Okay, let’s do this,” she says, shaking her arms at her sides as though preparing for a boxing match.

“How much did you hear?” Frank asks, risking looking her straight in the eyes.

“Only the finale. Enough to gather you want me gone.”

“I don’t want you gone, Karen. I want you safe,” he clarifies. “I was thinking, you know, maybe it’s time you took a vacation, somewhere nice. Take your…” He pauses, grinding his teeth. “Take your man and spend some time on a beach, under the sun.”

“Excuse me?” She quirks an eyebrow. “Take my what where now?”

“Tom, the pretty boy. Take a couple of weeks off, get a tan. Somewhere safe.”

“Well then, if I’m going on vacation with my man,” Karen’s voice drips with sarcasm, “I guess I should go out and buy the sexiest bikini I can find. You know how these things are, cocktails on the beach and then just sex, sex, sex. I’d better lay the groundwork for all the sex, don’t you think?”

He turns his face away from her, the muscles in his jaw tightening even more. Underneath all the bruising, his cheeks are turning red with outrage. Frank Castle is the jealous type then. She never would have guessed.

Karen doesn’t mean to be rude, especially considering he might have no teeth left after this, what with all the grinding, but she can’t avoid bursting into peals of laughter. She covers her mouth with her hand to try and stifle most of it, to no avail. When the laughter dies down, it takes any remnants of anger with it. “I don’t tan, Frank. Look at my skin. Sending me off to some beach is a surefire way of me getting second-degree sunburns. Do you really want that on your conscience?”  She laughs again, less loudly this time. “I was right, you are an idiot.”

Frank pinches the bridge of his nose. “Fine, I’m an idiot. But I’m an idiot that makes sense sometimes. Because it makes sense for you not to be here while this is happening.”

“Not to me,” Karen tells him and he looks at her with furrowed brows. “No, I honestly don’t get it. Maybe I’m the idiot right now, Frank, so explain it to me. Make me understand how it makes any sense for us to be apart.”  

Frank opens his mouth, then closes it again. Finally, an argument he can’t dispute. He sighs and his shoulders drop. “When you put it like that…”

“It’s how it is,” Karen shrugs. “I’m not going anywhere. I might be able to force myself to sit back and wait until you sort this out, maybe even hide for a while.” He looks at her expectantly, so she rushes to include an addendum. “Under a few conditions.”

“Anything,” he says. “You name it, it’s done.”

“Be careful,” she grins as she approaches him. “Give me too much power and I might abuse it.”

The way Frank sees it, she’s had power over him for a long time, ever since she stepped over that red line. Even then, Karen could push his buttons, right and wrong, one at a time and all at once. Trying to keep his distance had almost driven him mad. It should be better now, that she’s within arm’s reach, yet he can still feel insanity tugging at his sleeve. So maybe there’s no sane way to deal with this, maybe it all comes down to deciding what kind of crazy you are and rolling with it. And is there a better kind than being absolutely batshit crazy about Karen Page? “Tell me to jump and I will,” he tells her.

“With a sprained ankle? That would be an awkward leap,” she responds. “No, I think I prefer you sitting down.” She pulls the previously overturned chair and places it opposite her, motioning to it. “Take a seat.”

His limp doesn’t seem as bad as it was last night, he’s at least putting weight on his leg without wincing, but Karen is convinced it doesn’t feel better at all; he’s just too determined not to let it show. The brief look of relief on his face when he sits down is extremely telling however. He looks up at her, waiting for instructions and when she raises her index finger, he closes his eyes and sighs in frustration.

“Open your eyes, follow the finger,” she orders.

Frank obeys the first command, but as she waves her finger from right to left, his eyes don’t follow its movement. They bore into hers instead, with an intensity that makes Karen weak in the knees. She clears her throat and wiggles her finger. “Do the thing,” she says.

“My eyes are fine, Karen,” he grumbles. “Double vision should go away soon. I’m fine.”

“You’re being difficult on purpose.” Karen puts her finger down. “Would you be willing to answer some questions instead?”

An exasperated laugh spills out of him as he grabs her by the waist and shakes her gently. “For crying out loud! Not the questions again, I’m begging you.”

Defeated, Karen brings her hands to each side of his face, touching him very cautiously. The bruises are difficult to look at. She should have gotten used to it by now, with Frank being who he is, but it draws the same reaction from her every time. A lump in her throat, chest tight with worry, and the need to lock him away somewhere no one can reach him and hurt him ever again. He exhales softly when she traces his cheekbone with her thumb and she freezes. “Did that hurt?”

“No,” he tells her, covering her hand with his, keeping it in place. “Made everything else hurt less.”

“Frank…” Karen’s bottom lip starts trembling, giving her very little time before the tears start running down her cheeks. Which also forces her to pull her hands from his face, so that she can frantically wipe hers. She doesn’t know which is worse: the fact that she’s not sure why she’s crying or that she’s not touching him anymore.

As though aiming to rectify this very thing, Frank stands up and puts his arms around her; stiffly at first, like he’s not sure he’s allowed to do it, but when Karen buries her face in his neck, he holds on tighter. Not as tight as he could, as he’d like, but tighter nonetheless. This is probably the closest he’ll ever come to touching heaven, Frank thinks. “Hey, don’t worry. You couldn’t hurt me,” he mumbles in her ear, even though it’s a blatant lie. She could bring him to his knees with a single word.

“Does that mean I’m not close enough to do it?” she throws his own words back at him.

“No, you… You’re close enough.”

“So are we done playing games now?” Karen asks him, slowly pulling out of his arms. “And by ‘we’, I mean you. Obviously.”

“Yeah, we’re done.” He nods. “I’m done.”

“About damn time,” she says with a final sniffle. And then her stomach decides to ruin this marvelous moment by growling loudly. “Sorry about that. I haven’t had any food since… yesterday?”

Frank shakes his head and starts walking towards the door. She’ll scream and shout about being able to protect herself, but she’ll forget to eat. Though he could find something in Curtis’s kitchen, he’s still too dizzy to take on the challenge of cooking and, honestly, he feels guilty enough for imposing on his friend as it is. “Grab your things, let’s get something to eat.”

“Is this your way of asking me out?” she asks, raising an eyebrow.

He stops in his tracks, feeling slightly flustered. He didn’t think how it would sound and, truth be told, he wanted things to be different before he actually asked her out, but there’s no time like the present, right? And with his track record, there might not be another time. “Not good enough?” he asks finally, his cheeks heating up.

“No, it’s good enough. I just wanted to make you sweat.” Karen grins at him while she picks up her stuff. “Did it work?”

“Did it work,” Frank rolls his eyes, opening the door for her. “You know damn well it did.”

“Keep sweating, Castle.”

She laughs; the sound is joyful and enchanting and he soaks up her amusement, thrilled that he’s making her laugh for once, instead of making her cry.

***

Seeing as they were both starving, the conversation comes to a halt while they devour their hotdogs. Not that there had been much conversation to speak of up until that point; just stray –biting- comments about Matt and additional information about Frank’s friendship with Curtis. Strange how two people who have bonded over life or death situations would be so ill at ease with something as mundane as a date. After convincing her to eat a second hotdog, which Karen thinks might be a trick to keep them from talking a little while longer, Frank has bought her coffee. Now, he’s taking small sips from his cup, quietly walking beside her, as Karen tries to come up with subjects they could discuss. There is always the Russian and how Frank plans on proceeding with the whole thing, but that’s completely out of the question. She isn’t about to ruin their first date with topics like that.

She catches him looking at her a couple of times, smiling without saying anything. The silence doesn’t bother her, as long as she doesn’t think of it as something bad. Silences can be comfortable when you’re with the right person. But the right person’s limp appears to be worsening, so she suggests they rest for a while, and luckily, there’s a bench a few feet ahead. Frank waits for her to sit down before he sinks into the spot next to her; he would pull the bench back for her if such a thing was possible, ever the gentleman.    

Frank leans back and stretches his legs, grimacing when his ankle protests against all the walking they’ve done. “Don’t worry,” he says, before Karen has the chance to express her concern. “Just stings a bit, nothing fatal.”

“We should have sat down sooner, this is too much for you.”

“What are you talking about? This is perfect,” he tells her and his eyes crinkle in a genuine smile. “Not how I imagined it, but still.”

“You imagined going on date with me?” says Karen, wide-eyed. “Oh, do tell.”

He scratches the back of his head awkwardly. “I’m not telling you anything, if you’re gonna laugh.”

“Why do you think I would laugh?”

“Don’t know. Because it’s weird?”

“I wouldn’t laugh at you, Frank,” she assures him.

He looks at his feet, then back at her and takes a deep breath. “It would have to be somewhere fancy, you know, not some crappy diner with bad lighting. Someplace nice. Italian maybe. I’d wear a shirt and pretend I’m charming or something, all that bullshit. You’d wear that dress. The blue one, with the flowers?”

“That dress sure seems to be a hit,” she says. “All the boys love it.”

“All the boys, huh?” Frank scowls.

She can’t help but giggle at his expression. “All of them, Frank. All of my millions of admirers!”

Frank grunts, turns the cup of coffee in his hands; the air almost crackles with nervous energy. Karen puts her hand on his wrist and squeezes gently, feeling his muscles relax. “You know more about how dates go these days than I do, so tell me something. Is it normal to feel sick?” he asks, glum and surly.

“I think that might be the concussion.” She presses a kiss to his cheek and the corners of his mouth turn upwards. “So, I’d be wearing the blue dress. What else?”

“We’d talk, we’d laugh. Get dessert, can’t have a real date without dessert. We’d have a good time. Then I’d walk you home, stop at your door, take thirty minutes to say goodnight,” he chuckles. “Maybe more, if you could put up with it.”

“What, no kiss goodnight?” Karen teases him.

“Hell yeah, kiss goodnight,” he replies enthusiastically before restraining himself. “If it felt right. I wouldn’t force myself on you.”

She hums and takes a sip of coffee. “You know I would ask you to come upstairs, right?”

He arches his eyebrows, as a hint of mischief glimmers in his eyes. “Really?”

“Most definitely,” she nods.

“Shame we only got hotdogs and coffee then.”

The moon is up in the sky and though it isn’t full, it’s big and bright, and as Frank drapes his arm over her shoulders, pulling her close, Karen can’t help but think that, as far as first dates go, this one has been pretty exceptional. She leans on him and he softly touches his cheek to her forehead.

“Something’s been on my mind. Something Murdock said, it’s been gnawing at me,” he says.

“Has he been trying to convert you?”

His body shakes with laughter. “He knows better.”

“I wouldn’t count on it,” Karen smirks. “What did he say?”

“Something about inevitable things.”

“Fire and brimstone?”

“No.” He hesitates. “Us,” his voice comes out low and rough.  

Karen turns and blinks at him. “I’m not sure I understand.”

“He said…” He inhales sharply. “It feels stupid saying it out loud. It sounded less stupid in my head. He said that what’s happening between us was inevitable. That it was… meant to be, a kismet kind of thing.”

“What do you think?”

“You first,” he says, gulping down the last few sips of his coffee.

She mulls it over while nestling even closer to him. “I don’t think I like the concept, not if it means that something forced my hand,” she tells him. “I chose you, Frank. I did that myself. Nobody did it for me.”

His thumb starts moving tenderly up and down her arm. “Good to know.”

“What about you?” she presses.

“It’s complicated,” Frank sighs. “First off, I gotta think about what the word means, right? Does it mean that it would have happened no matter what or that things had to go down the way they did, so that it could happen at all?”

Karen knows, without a doubt, she doesn’t like where this is going.

“Then I think about my family. My kids. Was what happened to them necessary? Did they have to die for me to be able to be here with you right now? Was that the price that had to be paid? Was it just one more stepping stone to get me here?”

She tries to bite back her own tears, when she becomes aware of his. “Don’t do that to yourself, it’s cruel.”

“They’re just thoughts,” he persists. “And then I imagine, what if they were all okay, you know? What if they were alive and well and, one day, while taking a walk, with Maria by my side, the kids running around, laughing, I saw you passing by? Would I stop to look? Would everything change? Even if I never approached you. The promises I made, my duty, would they matter anymore?”

“Stop it, Frank!”

He squeezes her arm for a second, then his thumb resumes its trajectory. “I’m not saying you’re to blame. I’m just wondering if the whole point of inevitable things is to burn everything around them.”   

Karen certainly feels like she’s burning alive. Fire and brimstone alright. Trust Matt to serve a round of guilt to everyone, even when he wasn’t planning to, even when he can’t do it in person.

“You don’t really believe that, do you?”

“You don’t get it.” Frank presses his forehead to hers. “It’s not about me believing it or not. I’m saying I’m okay with it either way. You’re an unstoppable force, Karen. And I chose to get swept over by you. Christ, does that make me the biggest asshole you know?”

“No, that would be Matt,” Karen chuckles through her tears, relieved somewhat. “There’s nothing wrong with wanting to move on with your life, Frank. I know what we have will never be as valuable as what you lost-”

“None of that, you hear me?” he interrupts. “Some things become more valuable when they’re gone forever. And other things are so valuable you couldn’t stand to lose them.”

“And I suppose I fall into the second category?”

He gives her a half-smile. “You have to ask?”

“As I’ve said time and again, I’m not going anywhere.”

Looking ahead, Frank presses his lips together for a moment before he speaks. “I hope that's true, because I’m lost without you, Karen.”

Though he’s not crying anymore, his jaw is clenched in an effort to suppress his emotions. Karen runs her finger across his jaw line, softly tapping it towards her direction. When he turns to her and their eyes lock, Karen is tempted to think that maybe this was always going to happen, but not because it was fated to. If anything, fate has worked against them, sabotaging their every move as they struggled to come together. No, this is something of their own making. She’s not going to let fate get any of the credit.

“I miss the beard,” she blurts out without thinking.

“Yeah?” He sounds amused. “Maybe I should grow it out again. Won’t it scratch when I kiss you?”

Karen’s breath catches in her throat. “Do you plan on kissing me often?”

“As often as possible.”

“Well, you haven’t kissed me yet.”

In the time it takes for her to blink, Frank’s lips are already brushing hers delicately, like he’s afraid she might shatter at the touch. A wave of electricity starts crawling from her toes up to the roots of her hair, accompanying the heat rising in her cheeks, and a low moan escapes her. Encouraged by the sound, Frank lets his tongue run across her bottom lip; Karen throws her arms around his neck, desperate to get closer, closer, closer. With a hunger inside her that will never be satisfied, she works her mouth around his, moaning again when their tongues touch. He tastes like coffee, strong and smooth and delicious. And he’s gentle, so gentle that it hurts, as he brings his palms up to her cheeks, touching her in a way that feels like worship. Karen could stay in this moment forever. The world could end right now and she wouldn’t give a damn.

Frank was wrong before. This is heaven, right here, the fine line where the divine meets the sinful and all is forgiven. He inhales her breath and it makes him feel worthy, makes him feel human again. Karen’s body trembles against his and, god, he could cry with happiness. His heart pounds in his chest, reminding him where home is, making sure he’ll never forget that he has never felt so alive in his whole goddamn life.

When the inevitable kiss inevitably ends, trying to catch their breaths, they look at each other like they’re just meeting for the first time. Karen places her palm on his chest, feels the strong heartbeat quaking under it. _Alive_ , it says, _alive_. _Mine_ , she thinks.

“I’m done for. I’m done for now,” Frank whispers, affectionately planting kisses all over her face, as Karen basks in the bliss of his adoration.

“How’s your head?” she asks him a few moments later.

“Throbbing,” he admits.

Karen puts her hand in his. “Come on, we should get back.”

“Not yet,” he says, leaning on her, and squeezes her hand. “Let’s stay a bit longer, yeah?”

“Okay, honey,” she chuckles.

“Honey,” Frank repeats with a broad smile. “I’ll never get used to that.”

Karen presses her lips to his neck. “Give it time.”


	14. Almost

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This took me a while. Let me know if/how you like it.  
> Also, I made a tumblr for, ahem, Kastle purposes, if anybody is interested in stopping by for a chat. It's bottled-bliss.  
> Thank you for the comments and kudos and reading and everything!

When it became painfully evident that their date had to come to an end, simply because dates can’t last forever, having her walk him home instead of the other way around was a battle Frank quickly lost. “Besides, I don’t know where you live. I have the feeling I should inspect the place,” Karen had grinned. There was nothing to inspect. His place was tiny. He was almost embarrassed to let her see it. Quite right too, because it only takes one glance around the four walls squished so close together for Karen to let out the longest sigh he’s ever heard her utter.

“And this is all of it, I guess? No secret rooms hidden behind… is this supposed to be a tapestry?” she says with disgust.

“Don’t need much space,” Frank replies. “Not like I spend a lot of time here anyway.”

“Of course.”

“A bed to sleep in is the height of luxury for me,” he rushes to assure her. “It’s fine.”

“Just because you have no problem lodging in literal shitholes, doesn’t mean you have to actively seek them out,” Karen scolds him before placing her hands on her hips in a resolute stance. “Right, okay… How much of these things do you actually own?”

“Just clothes, a few books, that kind of stuff. None of the furniture.”

“Your…”

She hesitates, so he finishes the question for her. “Guns? Not here.”  

“So all your stuff could be shoved in a bag within an hour?” she asks.

“Less. Karen, listen-”

“No, you listen. You’re not spending another night in this place. Not when there’s a perfectly good apartment that can accommodate both of us.” She holds up her hand when he opens his mouth to protest. “I’m not saying it’s a permanent solution. But at least until you’re not a walking injury anymore, I’d feel better knowing you’re sleeping in a decent bed.”

“That just so happens to be yours,” he says, realizing his voice comes out low, too low.

“That just so happens to be mine,” Karen smiles. “Don’t worry, Frank. I’m not going to take advantage of you in your fragile state.”

Frank almost wishes she would. True, he isn’t in peak physical condition, so he would find it difficult to initiate anything more than a kiss. In his mind, he has initiated, done a good job at and accomplished the task with great success. Reality is different though. And Karen is well aware of it too, because when he jokingly asks if she isn’t afraid that he will take advantage of her, she simply laughs the question away.

“Promise me the moon too, while you’re at it.”

Her teasing only serves to feed the flame burning in the pit of his stomach. “You just wait,” he chuckles back, as she helps him gather his things.

In the end, it takes the two of them ten minutes to put everything in a bag and be ready to go. Is that how small his life has become? Small enough to occupy so little space, require less time to pack up than most people take in the shower? A week ago, he might have felt differently about it; packing quickly means you can disappear quickly. He doesn’t feel like disappearing anymore. 

When they arrive at her apartment, instead of following her straight inside, he stands at the door for a moment. Karen, cocking her head to the side, narrows her eyes at him inquisitively, but a moment is all he needs; the time for questioning his place in her life has passed. As he closes the door behind him, he feels like he belongs there. Karen puts her arms around him as soon as he sets the bag down and after nuzzling his cheek, she then pulls away and goes off to turn on the lights, to water the plants, normal household stuff; that is probably just her routine and though it has never included him before, it does now. Frank takes a look around, spotting the roses on a shelf on the wall, practically invisible as they are crammed between books. It’s a wonder she kept them in the first place.

“Shouldn’t you let Curtis know where you are?”

“You think Curt’s surprised when I leave without a word? Or that he spends his days worrying about me?” he sniggers.

“I do, actually,” she says, looking at him seriously. “People have a tendency to worry about their loved ones, Frank. Try to remember that.”

“Yes, ma’am,” he replies and goes to get a glass of water in an attempt to hide his shame. “I’ll give him a call.”

With a nod, she excuses herself to take a shower and Frank, reluctantly, picks up his phone to call Curtis. His friend may find the interaction more concerning than not having him call at all, but he’ll also be reassured, if not for Frank’s safety, at least for his ability to _finally_ take advice when it is given to him.

“Karen’s place, got it,” Curtis says, very obviously amused, thrilled even, with the turn of events. 

“Yeah, I’m, uh, keeping a close eye on her, in case the Russian comes at her again.”

“You do that, Frank. You keep a real close eye on her,” he laughs. “Don’t let her out of your sight.”

Which is exactly what Frank was planning on doing.

“The bathroom is all yours, I’m done,” Karen shouts as she runs into the bedroom a bit later, leaving the door open just a crack. She could have done it on purpose, but Frank’s brain insists that he perceive it as an accident or else he isn’t going to have the shower that he so desperately needs as well. By the time he’s done scrubbing and sprucing up, Karen has already gotten into bed. She appears to be sleeping, but Frank knows she can’t be, not with all the things on her mind. It had been easy for both of them to put stress aside for a little while. Not forever though; there are things he has to tell her and there are things about which she has to lecture him. Her back is turned to him as he walks meekly into the room, but she detects his mood and interprets it with shocking accuracy.

“As much as I like my couch, I don’t recommend sleeping in it.”

“You sure? It looks pretty comfortable to me.”

“Come to bed, Frank,” she coaxes with a sharp tone, without turning to look at him.

He quietly lies down beside her, trying not to make the bed shake too much. She doesn’t move at all. No matter how lovely a view her back is though, Frank still needs to look at her face, her eyes, to know she isn’t lost in thought, drifting far away from him. He places a heavy palm on her hip, gripping gently. Karen sighs a strange medley of sentiments; sorrow, desire, despair and hope, all in one.

“Look at me.”

She turns around gracefully, a shy smile decorating her lips. “Hey.”

“Hey,” he echoes. His hand is still on her waist and he has to try very hard not strengthen his grip.

“It’s good to have you here, you know?” She brings her hand to his face, reaching up to run her fingers through his hair. “Not bleeding or anything.”

“It’s good to be here,” he agrees.

There is something off about her, he knows already, but becomes certain when she pulls her hand away and balls it into a fist under her chin. “Matt called last night, or this morning, I guess. While you were sleeping.”

“I know,” Frank nods. “We talked.”

“So he told you where the Russian is?”

“Yeah, he told me.” Frank has come up with a plan. He’s informed Matt of it, Curtis as well. They are all in agreement about what needs to be done –Curtis less so- and ready to go; as soon as Frank can tear himself away from Karen. He prays she doesn’t ask for the specifics because the thought that he’s going to have to lie to her weighs on him, much heavier than before.  

Karen keeps quiet for a long while, thinking, worrying her lip. “Do you have to do this?” she says eventually.

“If I want a normal life,” _with you_ , “yes.”

“We could go away,” she whispers softly. “Just you and me. We could go anywhere in the world. Paris is supposed to be amazing. I wouldn’t mind living there, if we can master the language,” she forces a laugh.

She talks about running away, running for their lives and Frank is practically ready to give in, deceived by the promise of twinkling lights and sharing goddamn croissants with her. “Can you imagine me speaking French?” He lets out a hoarse laugh and strokes her hair. “You’re scared, I get it. But even if there was the smallest chance this could work, is this what you dreamed for yourself? Is this what you want? To throw away everything you’ve worked so hard for? Your friends, your job. Your life, Karen! To spend the rest of it hiding, looking over your shoulder?”

“I could do it.”

“That’s what I’m afraid of.” Frank moves closer, pausing for permission, and she puts her hand on the back of his neck, drawing him in. “When I said ‘I don’t want to’, I meant exactly this. I don’t want to see you throw your life away, don’t wanna be the reason for it.” He touches his lips to hers for a brief moment. “You’re not a stupid woman, Karen Page, but you sure act stupid when I’m around.”

“Love makes fools of us all, big and little,” she grins.

In all the declarations he’s ever made to her, however passionate and honest they might have been, the word ‘love’ hasn’t come up. The mention of it makes Frank’s insides liquefy instantly. He has never told her, not implicitly, yet she feels free saying it to him, relentless and unafraid.

“I’m not asking for too much, Frank.”

“No, you’re asking for too little.” Frank sighs. “I’m not gonna stick around, unless I can give you the life you deserve. And I can’t give you the life you deserve, with that scumbag and his boss after me,” he snarls. “Let me fix this, Karen. Let me fix _something_.”

“Okay.” Frank blinks once, thinking this acquiescence was too easy, before Karen adds “What can I do to help?” shattering any illusions he might harbor of this woman ever going easy on him.

“You can stay out of harm’s way, that’s what you can do.”

“You expect me to lay low while you go get your ass kicked?” She tangles her fingers in his hair and yanks it, too gently for it to have any real effect.

“Hey, you said you would. Under conditions,” he raises his eyebrows at her.

“I did, didn’t I?” she exhales.

Frank is unable to resist her lips anymore, as she pouts in an imitation of disappointment. How he’s managed to hold back so far is beyond him. He kisses her slowly, taking his time. It makes her purr like a cat, he notes with delight, deepening the kiss. If they didn’t need to come up for air, he’d never stop.

“Name your conditions, Page,” he says afterwards, when his heart has stopped racing.

“You could take me to Paris when all this is over, for starters,” she chuckles.

“That’s it? That’s easy. Sure, I’ll take you to Paris, Rome, wherever you want,” he laughs back.

“No, here is fine, Frank. You just… You come back,” Karen tells him, her voice cracking. “You come back here.”

_Home. To me_. She doesn’t need to say the words, he can see them written across her face in bold letters. What she’s asking sounds simple enough, except it requires a somewhat more complicated thing in order to work; that he doesn’t die. And she knows it. Frank touches his forehead to hers, feeling her fingers tremble on the base of his skull. He could promise her, but he’s broken too many promises already to risk breaking another one. “Long as I breathe, I’ll always come back to you,” Frank says and hopes she understands.

She does. “Yes,” Karen laughs because she can’t afford to cry right now, failing to mask the deafening tone of concern in her voice regardless. “I suppose it will have to do.”

His lips trace the curve of her shoulder. “I’ll be gone by the time you get up,” he informs her as calmly as he can, in spite of the knot in his throat. “So maybe I should tell you now-”

“Not like this, Frank.” She pushes him back gently and he notices a tear roll down her cheek. “Not like it’s goodbye.”

“I don’t want it to be, but what if I don’t get another chance to say it?”

Karen glares at him, unsuccessfully, seeing as she has to bite her lip to push back tears at the same time. If this ends up being goodbye, shouldn’t he make the most of it? Make it mean something, just in case? Just in case. Frank cups her cheek with his hand and holds her gaze until it softens again. “I love you, Karen.”

A tiny sob escapes her. “Well, I’m not saying it back,” she tells him, her fingers curling around the back of his neck and squeezing. An admonition. If he wants it, he’s going to have to get out of this alive, come back and claim it. Frank is grateful she never goes easy on him; it gives him the strength to do what must be done, making sure he’s going to give this fight all he’s got.

“You don’t have to,” he says, tasting salt as he places gentle kisses on her face.

***

Frank’s ears are still ringing in the morning. He’s been concussed before, he knows the drill. But he’s not seeing double anymore, which is a blessing in itself. Double vision is the goddamn worst, it distorts everything. He’s glad that’s over and done with. Now he can take a good look at Karen, take every little detail in, while the light of dawn illuminates her sleeping form. There is so much peace in this room, in this moment. He would give anything not to undo the spell, but there’s no time to waste, as a text from Murdock, making his phone buzz in his pocket, reminds him. He carefully gets out of bed, watching Karen’s face the whole time, but the serenity of her features doesn’t shift along with his weight being removed from the mattress. Walking away from her becomes harder each time. Thankfully, he won’t have to do it again.

***

As far as battlefields go, Frank has seen worse. The abandoned power plant is almost too pretty to house a fight and he feels a twinge of regret when he considers how much damage they’ll be doing to it soon. But at least there’s enough space to avoid getting slammed into walls so easily. The sound of waves crashing against the shore outside muffles any small noise he and Murdock might make, giving them a bit of an advantage against their enemy, who doesn’t seem to know how not to be loud as he paces on the ground floor of the building. Frank is glad to see that he’s still hobbling, the memento of their last encounter restraining his movement. No superhuman healing powers then. Good.

“A flamethrower? Seriously?” Matt whispers when he realizes what the weapon hanging from Frank’s shoulder is. “What are you going to do with a flamethrower?”

“Burn shit.” He shrugs. “Can’t hurt. And it’s a flame gun, there’s a difference.”

“Where did you get it?”

“Made it myself,” Frank tells him, keeping his eyes on the Russian.

Matt shakes his head. From what he can tell, there’s no fire hazard, at least not in this part of the building, but they still have to be careful. At any rate, he’s satisfied with Frank’s renewed focus. Whatever was missing before, making him appear resigned to fail, has returned. Matt couldn’t possibly ask for more. “I was thinking what we could do to weaken him without engaging,” he says. “If we had something to throw on his head, from this height, it would probably knock him out immediately.”

“Yeah, yeah, that’s a great idea, Red,” Frank replies and Matt feels pleased with this effortless approval, for about a millisecond. “An anvil maybe. Or do you think a grand piano would work better?” he continues with a wry tone.

Matt presses his lips together to prevent himself from laughing. Frank is sarcastic enough as it is, he doesn’t need the extra motivation. “There’s a pile of granite bricks right beside you, Frank.”

“I ain’t dropping anything on him,” he grumbles. “I’m going down there, meeting him head-on. Gotta draw him towards those pillars somehow. Can you sneak behind that boiler to his right without being seen?”

Matt considers the way down for a moment. “Only if you cause a distraction. The space is too open for me to hide anywhere.”

“You got it,” Frank nods and as Matt slinks back towards the staircase, he adds “Be careful down there, Red”. Then he stands up abruptly. “Hey, Ivan!” he bellows. The Russian’s head snaps up so quickly his neck could break. “Wanna have another go at me?”

The brute clenches his fists, limping heavily to his direction. His face blazes with rage as he comes to a halt right under the platform Frank is standing on. From the corner of his eye, Frank spots Murdock crouching behind the boiler and lets out a sharp breath. All the pieces are in place.

“You challenge me from up there?” Ivan growls. “When I am done with you, I will make sure everybody knows the Punisher was a coward.”

“I’m coming, don’t worry,” Frank says, jumping down from the main level and landing on a pipe a few feet below, but still far away from the Russian’s reach. “Just thought I’d give you a chance to tell me who’s paying you first, you know, without resorting to violence,” he smirks and lowers himself onto the next pipe. The Russian’s lip curls back into a snarl, revealing his teeth; an intimidation technique or simply an honest reaction, Frank can’t tell, but he doesn’t care either way. He wants to be done, he wants to end this.

The Russian’s eyes follow his every move. “How is your blonde friend?” he asks, momentarily distracting him with his tone of wrathful satisfaction. “I was hoping to get to know her better, before you interrupted us.”

Frank doesn’t respond. He mustn’t. Karen is safe. He can’t lose his focus now.

But the Russian knows his words have made the desired impact and he sneers at him. “You won’t be able to stand in my way when you’re dead. Maybe I will pay her a visit then, see how easy Karen Page is to break.”

That does it. Frank is seeing red and he knows it has nothing to do with the concussion. He raises his gun, aiming at the Russian’s throat. His skull might be too tough for a bullet, but his trachea sure as hell isn’t. He’s just about ready to shoot, when he remembers that he needs information before he can actually kill the bastard. “Say her name one more time, see what that gets you,” he barks, trying to keep his finger from pressing the trigger. In that moment of hesitation, the Russian lunges forward, grabs the pipe Frank is standing on and tears it off.

Matt leaves his hiding spot, just as Frank lands on the floor while the cluster of pipes splits and crumbles around him. Wrapping the cable of his club around the Russian’s neck has worked before, so he tries it again, pulling with all of his strength to bring him down. The huge man topples back, but this time, getting the cable off proves to be much easier. When he turns to Matt, he’s foaming at the mouth. It’s a good thing he can’t see it.

Frank gets up on his feet; the ringing in his ears has increased and it’s making his head hurt. Everything’s spinning, but he can still discern Matt, throwing punches that the Russian blocks effortlessly. Frank grabs one of the pipes and launches it at his back. It barely hits its mark and the Russian doesn’t even flinch anyway. By the time Frank can focus his vision again, that bastard has grabbed Matt by the arm, holding him firmly in his vice-like grip. Trying to get loose, Matt makes an attempt at a flip, but it fails as the Russian puts his other hand on his shoulder and holds him down. “Hey, it’s me you want,” Frank roars. “Let him go, come get me!”

Unperturbed, the Russian lifts up Matt’s arm, exerting little strength as he pulls it. The crack is audible and it’s nauseating, but the worst thing is Matt’s wail. Frank starts shooting at the Russian’s back frantically, advancing towards him while he does so. Ivan finally lets go of his friend and turns to face him, unfazed by the bullets that hit his chest, making next to no damage. Matt falls to his knees on the floor, holding his shoulder with the hand he can still use.

Finding he has run out of bullets, Frank throws his gun away and reaches for the flame gun instead. The Russian is close enough to stop him though, smashing his balled-up fist against Frank’s stomach. Its force pushes him back, driving all the air out of him as he gasps loudly, but it somehow avoids his ribs, meaning he won’t be short of breath for too long. Matt throws his billy club to the back of the Russian’s head, only stunning him for a few seconds, yet giving Frank enough time to grab his weapon. Still gasping, he finally gets his fingers around the handle of the flame gun, turns it towards the Russian and watches as the bastard recoils in fear. “Looks like we found his weakness, Red,” Frank yells towards Matt as a stream of fire launches out of the gun.

“Stop!” the Russian yelps, terrified.

“Like hell I will,” Frank growls and forces him towards the row of pillars, keeping the flame as close to his face as it can get without burning him. Only after the Russian’s back has collided with steel and he has dissolved into a sniveling mess on the floor, does Frank put down the gun, giving him little time to react before grabbing his head with both hands and slamming it against the cold metal one, two, three times. The Russian’s eyelids flutter as he passes out, but Frank can’t enjoy this small victory just yet.

“You okay, Red?” he shouts, as he picks up and drags a heavy chain to tie up the Russian before he wakes up.

“Y-yes,” Murdock replies, panting. “I think I dislocated my shoulder.”

“You’ll be lucky if that’s all you got.” Frank wraps the chain around the Russian’s mass, tightly enough to cut off his circulation, and secures it by shoving a metal bar between its links. He resists the intense urge to kick the unconscious man and goes over to Matt, helping him get up.  

“He’s really down,” Matt quietly chuckles with relief as he stands to his feet.

“Couldn’t have done it without you, Matt,” Frank says.

Matt smiles. At first, the use of his first name doesn’t strike him as odd. It’s true that Frank has never addressed him by it, but this change doesn’t really mean anything, does it? Maybe it’s because he stupidly let his guard down, placed his trust in Frank, that no warning bells go off. Or maybe if his shoulder didn’t hurt so much, he would have seen it coming, could have prepared for Frank’s forearm crushing his throat. It doesn’t make any sense for Frank to be doing this. They’re not enemies, Matt isn’t trying to stop him from killing anybody, so why? Why?

His ears are flooded with the sound of his own blood rushing to his head. Matt opens his mouth to bargain with him, but no sound comes out. His senses begin to fade. “Thanks for all your help.” It’s the last thing Matt hears before he starts feeling weightless, like he’s falling, floating in endless silence. _Frank would never hurt me, Frank would never, my friend would never…_


	15. Nearly there

Matt comes to his senses loudly gasping for breath, surprised to find nothing pressed against his throat, as his mind hastily registers every sound and every smell around him. His hands are tied together, which is concerning, yet someone has bothered to put his seatbelt on. Mask still on too. He’s in a moving vehicle driven by a stranger, a man whose heart is beating rapidly. He’s nervous, sweating. You and me both, Matt thinks as he starts wriggling, trying to make the rope around his wrists come loose. The damn thing is too tight.

“Frank tied that knot himself, no point trying to get out of it,” the man says and his voice trembles slightly. “He said you’d try to hit me first chance you got, so it would be safer for the both of us if your hands were tied the whole time. Can’t have you punching the driver.”

“Who are you?”

“Curtis, Frank’s friend?” Matt’s face doesn’t show any sign of awareness, to which Curtis responds with an annoyed laugh. “Of course, why would he mention his friend to anyone, much less Daredevil, right?” Curtis has learned to expect all sorts of weird things happening in his life, but he could never have foreseen driving Daredevil to safety, at Frank Castle’s request.

“Is that supposed to make me trust you?” Matt scoffs, hating the hint of resentment in his voice.

“Well, Frank trusted me to haul your ass out of those ruins, so it doesn’t really matter what you think.”

The round goes to Curtis. Matt doesn’t know how to respond. He opts for silence while trying to wrench himself free from his restraints, despite knowing it’s useless beforehand. A jolt of intense, throbbing pain reminds him of his injury, but it doesn’t stop him from thrashing around. He can’t stand feeling trapped and there’s also the matter of getting back to Frank. That idiot.

“What are you doing, man? Stop that.”

“Let me out of here!” shouts Matt, twitching and squirming. His left arm is completely numb by this point but the ache in his shoulder becomes sharper, sending shivers down his whole body. “I have to go back!”

A large palm comes up to his chest, gently pushing him back against the seat. “You really have to stop,” Curtis says. “I didn’t survive a bomb explosion to die in a car crash. Besides, I know you’re in a lot of pain right now and all this bouncing is making it worse. Just… stop.” He pulls his hand away, giving Matt a moment to calm down.

The pain is indeed getting worse, whether he moves or not. Another win for Curtis then. Matt knows it’s pretty much game over, but he’s never been particularly good at cutting his losses and moving on. “Listen to me, okay? Frank needs help,” he pleads. “There’s still time. Help me pop my shoulder back and turn this car around-”

“Sorry, can’t,” Curtis cuts him off abruptly, but his tone is sympathetic. “When Frank asks for a favor, I gotta do it. No matter how stupid I think it is. Sit back and relax, you’re not going anywhere.”

“You’re just as crazy as he is!” Matt is on the verge of tears. “I have to- he’s… I have to help him.”

Curtis sighs. As much as he can relate to this man’s distress, there’s nothing he can do about it. “Do you have a name? Calling you ‘Daredevil’ seems ridiculous. Unless you prefer it that way.”

“Matt,” he replies quietly, hanging his head in defeat.

“Okay, Matt. First things first, I can’t fix your shoulder. From what I could tell, you’ve had one dislocation too many and that kind of shit needs surgery. I can patch up a lot of things, but I don’t have the resources for something like that.”

“You can’t take me to a hospital, not like this,” Matt waves his tied hands over his outfit and winces, as a new wave of pain ripples down his back.

“Surprisingly, I could figure that out myself.”

The sarcastic note doesn’t escape Matt. He’s Frank’s friend alright. “Where are you taking me?”

“Frank said I should drop you off at Karen’s.”

Acting on an unfathomable impulse, Matt pulls the mask off his face and throws his head back in laughter. The sound is deep and guttural and just strange. Curtis looks sideways at him, narrowing his eyes.

“Karen, of course,” Matt says, the laughter slowly turning into a bitter thickness rising out of his throat. “Then you can explain this to her. Because I’m not going to be the one to tell her that Frank is alone with the Russian, after promising her that I wouldn’t let anything happen to him.”

“I’m sure she’ll understand,” Curtis responds dispassionately, but he has to wonder about the truth of his own words.

“Oh, will she? Well, we’re about to find out, aren’t we? I can hear the city traffic from here, we’re getting close. So yeah, let’s see how Karen takes the news,” he says and leans back. “That’s another reason to hope Frank doesn’t die today. I would like to be present when she gives him a piece of her mind.”

Curtis goes quiet for a while, reluctantly admitting to himself that he’s unwittingly signed up for being the target of Karen’s wrath. Another fine mess Frank has dragged him into. After a long, uncomfortable silence, he takes a glance at Matt. “Can I ask you an inappropriate question?”

The smirk etched on his face gives him a look of sinister amusement. “Sure, why not? We’re all friends here,” he says.

“Are you blind?”

“Yes, Curtis,” Matt replies. “Yes, I am. In more ways than one, apparently.”

To his credit, Curtis hides his surprise better than most people would. Apart from a small spike in his pulse, he seems entirely indifferent. “He was just looking out for you, man,” he says kindly. “You’re hurt, he wanted to make sure you’d be alright.”

Matt lets out a sharp exhale. “I know,” he nods. “And that’s even more frustrating because I can’t even be mad at him now.”

Curtis laughs wholeheartedly at this. “It’s Frank, he’ll give you some other reason to be mad at him soon enough,” he says and because Matt knows just how true this is, he can’t help but join in with a modest chuckle . But when the cheerfulness subsides, he also can’t help feeling a little pleased to remind Curtis they still have Karen to get through.

***

Unless he plans on rolling over him, the Russian can’t really do anything to Frank in his current condition, but his sight still makes him feel uneasy. As he struggles against the chains, puffing his chest and roaring like a lion, Frank crouches down and glares at him. “Give it another shot, maybe the hundredth try will do the trick,” he huffs, annoyed. Frank grabs the flame gun and twirls it around like a baton, giving the Russian a good view of it. He tries, really tries, to look fearless, but his eyes betray him, pupils widening at the mere thought of what’s about to happen. It feels good, being able to scare a man like him, better than Frank could have imagined. “I’m gonna need a name, Ivan,” he says and sends a spurt of fire to his direction.

The Russian jerks backwards, letting out a small sound that doesn’t quite match his appearance. Frank brings the gun closer, shooting out a steady flame over his foe’s right knee. The fabric of his pants darkens as a small tuft of smoke rises out of it. He’s overcome with fear at this point, clumsily kicking at air. Frank is focused on his task; he keeps lowering the gun towards his knee, watching the flame burn a hole through the fabric, the skin underneath it reddening, blistering, bursting. The Russian screams and screams. It’s like music to his ears. Frank moves over and aims for the other knee.

“Normally, I’d tell you to hurry up, that I got better things to do, but you know what? Take your time.” He looks at Ivan with eyes devoid of humanity. “I’m enjoying this too much.”

His left knee seems to be more sensitive somehow, due to an old injury perhaps; he starts screaming as soon as the flame touches it. Frank relishes the sound, almost forgetting that he has to take a break from torturing the man.

“No, please! Please!” the Russian shrieks, tears running down his cheeks. “Please, stop!”

The flame retreats with a soft hiss. “That’s it? That’s all you can take?” Frank is almost disappointed in him. How the mighty have fallen.

“My loyalty doesn’t lie with that woman,” he replies, managing to sound a little bit offended through his sobbing. “I was simply hired to do a job.”

Frank glowers at him. “Start talking.”

The Russian inhales and exhales slowly, glancing at his burnt knee. “Her name is Isabella Gnucci.” The flame gun goes off again, scorching his knee and he lets out another scream.

“Why are you lying to me, Ivan? I took out the Gnuccis, left no one alive,” Frank groans.

“I’m not lying!” the Russian cries. “I swear I’m not lying! Ma Gnucci, Isabella, she is the last one left! You killed her son!”

A mother mourning her son. It should hit hard. It would hit hard, if Frank didn’t know Tony Gnucci was a piece of shit. Putting a bullet in his head had been easy. No regrets had followed that act. “And now she wants revenge.” Makes sense.

“She will not rest until you are dead,” the Russian confirms.    

Frank starts laughing hoarsely, sounding half-crazy even to himself. “Do I look like I’m ready to die, Ivan?” he says, not waiting for an answer because there’s an even more pressing question to ask. “So where is this old lady holed up?” The Russian hesitates for a moment and Frank nods pointedly to his gun.

“Her mansion, in Scarsdale,” he mumbles finally. After taking a moment to catch his breath, he gives up the address as well, looking intently at Frank, hoping he’s offered enough information to spare him the fiery torture.

“I’ll have to pay her a visit after we wrap things up here,” Frank says.

“Yes, you should go,” the Russian nods eagerly. “You should go now.”

“Not now.” The words roll off his tongue slowly, heavy as they are with the fury he’s been forcing down all this time. “After.”

“But I told you!” Ivan yells, realizing his torment isn’t even close to ending. “I told you everything!”

Frank tries to think of the gun as an extension of his rage as it starts spitting out fire, but its flame is too small, too weak, compared to what he’s feeling. “Weird thing is, I’d consider letting you go,” he snarls, “if you hadn’t threatened Karen.”

“I won’t go after her,” the Russian mutters. “I will leave her alone, I swear!”

“Your word means nothing to me,” Frank spits and a low growl begins rumbling in his chest. “You thought you could break Karen Page? She would have lasted longer than you. That’s what pisses me off. She would have cried, she would have screamed, but when it came down to it, she wouldn’t have caved. Wouldn’t have asked for mercy.” His heart aches when he thinks about it. “And you would have shown her none.”

He reaches forward and grabs the Russian’s wrist, making him hold his hand out even though he tries to twist it out of Frank’s grip, weeping the entire time. “Let’s see how long it takes you to ask for mercy, huh, Ivan? Let’s find out if I’m gonna show you any.”

The smell of burning flesh fills the air. It’s stronger than before, as the Russian’s kneecaps have less meat than his hands do. Frank closes his eyes and takes a deep breath. He doesn’t know what he enjoys more, the smell or the Russian’s wailing. Maybe it’s the combination of the two. After a few minutes, he pauses, observes the charred skin on the Russian’s fingers.

“Please, I’m begging you,” Ivan chokes out. His voice is barely audible by now, his head lolling to one side.

Frank gives him a look full of scorn. “Karen wouldn’t have begged.” He lets go of one hand and gets hold of the other. He notices the flame is waning, but there’s enough fuel left to sear at least four more fingers. The Russian continues howling pathetically. “Guys like you, you don’t get it. You think there’s glory in the kill, ain’t that right? I’ve been doing this long enough to know there’s no glory in any kill. There’s just how it makes you feel. And this makes me feel too damn good,” Frank snarls, putting more pressure on the Russian’s hand. He remains composed, even when the fire licks at his thumb by accident before shrinking and popping out of existence. Frank glares at the gun and flings it away.

The Russian closes his eyes, mumbling thanks to an absent deity, as Frank walks over to one of the piles of bricks lying around on the floor. He picks one up, weighs it in his hand and approaches the Russian again, laying it on the ground before him. Then he goes searching for the gun that was knocked out of his hand during their fight; it doesn’t take long. When he’s found it, he comes back and places it next to the brick. And finally, Frank pulls out a bowie knife, placing it alongside the other two weapons, examining them all carefully, as he tries to choose which one he should start with.  

“Please… Why…” the Russian mouths more than speaks the words.

“Because _my_ loyalty is to my woman. I am bound to her,” Frank kindly explains. “And I will make you, and any asshole who thinks they can hurt her, regret the day you looked in her direction.”

***

Karen pinches the bridge of her nose. She looks up, then pinches it again. If these clowns had asked for her opinion, a better plan might have been formed. But no, Daredevil and the Punisher, the duo of stupidity, always have to do things the hard way. Men, she thinks and sighs.

“I’m not upset,” she says, more to herself than to Curtis and Matt. The two of them present a pitifully comical image, standing around like they’re waiting for the scolding of their lives. Matt’s hands are still tied together, but he hasn’t complained once. Karen goes to him and starts undoing the knot carefully. Why did it take her so long to get to it anyway? She’s clearly not upset, she said so herself, didn’t she? It doesn’t matter if her mouth is suddenly dry or her knees wobble slightly; she’s not upset. “So he’s going to need surgery, huh?” she asks Curtis, trying to think about something, anything else than Frank.

“Yeah, I think so,” he replies quietly.

Karen nods, thinking about calling Foggy. He could meet them at the hospital and stay with Matt after she comes home to-- To do what exactly? Wait patiently? Sit in silence while slowly but surely going out of her mind? She bites her lip, wondering if there’s a way to figure out Frank’s location and then, maybe-- He has asked her to sit this one out, he wanted her to lay low, stay out of trouble while he takes care of things. Does she have to listen to him when he never bothers listening to her? She has to call Foggy, Matt needs a change of clothes-- What was Frank thinking? First he agrees to have somebody help him and then he pulls this crap? Call Foggy. Matt needs to get to the hospital-- Frank is alone. Frank could be hurt. Have to look after Matt. But Frank--     

Curtis puts his hands on her arms and Karen only now realizes she’s been pacing up and down nervously. “Do you need a moment?” Curtis asks.

“I need…” Karen begins, but has no idea how to complete that sentence. She needs Frank to come back. That’s all, that’s all she wants. To what god does she have to pray to make that happen? Ares, god of war? Shiva the Destroyer? She clasps her hands together. “I need to take care of things on my end,” she says with a steady voice. “Calling Foggy now, Matt. We’ll take you to the hospital as soon as you’re out of your pajamas,” she cracks a smile and picks up her phone.

Foggy mostly hums in acknowledgement of what she tells him, keeping the scathing commentary to himself, for the time being. She imagines him nodding crossly. He agrees to meet them at her apartment however, always too tender to let his anger overshadow the concern for his best friend. Karen hangs up with a sigh. “Ten minutes, fifteen tops,” she tells Matt, whose face is turning paler and paler. “How are you holding up?”

“I’ve had worse, Karen,” he breathes.

“Of course you have. You’re such a brave boy,” she teases him. “The bravest boy in the world.”

Curtis covers his mouth with his hand to conceal his laughter. Karen Page is a wonder to behold, in any event. Keeping armed -as well as unarmed- vigilantes in check like it’s no big deal, staring them down until they yield to her. And loving them, taking care of them when other people would just walk away. “Karen,” he says eventually, “what do you want me to do?” He might as well offer his services willingly, since everybody else seems to have bowed down to the queen already.    

“Do you mind staying here, in case Frank comes back before I do? He might…” Karen says and her focus breaks momentarily. “He might need something.” She clears her throat.

“Yes, ma’am,” Curtis smiles graciously.

All of a sudden, her eyes darken and her brow furrows. “Don’t,” she mutters. “Please, don’t say that.” Her hands clasp together again, knuckles turning white, and she has to force down a sob.

***

Frank casually walks up to the front door of the Gnucci manor. He doesn’t stop to admire the opulent architecture; lavish buildings like that have never impressed him much and this one is especially not impressive, because he knows where the money used to build it came from. Its walls could be painted red for all the blood the Gnucci family has spilled. He bangs at the door with his fist, wondering if there are many men left to try and stop him from entering. The first three he encountered scared easily and they ran off in a panic after a single glimpse at his trophy.

As a young woman opens the door, Frank has the good sense to hide his hands behind his back. She eyes him up cautiously. “I’m here to see Isabella Gnucci. Tell her Frank Castle is here,” he says as politely as he can and she scurries off, up a large staircase that leads to the first floor. Frank steps inside and pushes the door shut. Moments later, the woman who let him in runs off towards the right side of the house, probably seeking cover, and another, much older woman starts making her way down the stairs. She looks small and fragile, but Frank recognizes power when he sees it and this woman exudes power from every single pore on her body.

She comes to a stop a few feet in front of him, a grimace of disdain on her face. Frank stares back at her. What’s the protocol for this type of situation? How do you address the old lady who wants to kill you? Who should be the one to break the silence? As it turns out, it’s Frank.

“Here, I brought you a present,” he tells her, tossing the Russian’s severed head at her feet.

The gruesome sight doesn’t disturb her. She throws a glance at it and then looks back to him like all this is normal, like the only strange thing is that he chose to present her with the damn head here and not in the living room. She must have seen her fair share of blood and guts, back in the day. “How kind of you,” she says, her voice dripping with loathing.

Then the staring contest begins anew. Frank has no idea what to do. If a man was standing before him, even an old man, he would have already put a bullet in him. But this old lady? He couldn’t possibly hurt her, he’d rather cut off his own hand.

Frank sighs. “I just want to be left alone.”

“And I want my son back,” she responds.

“Can you go back in time and teach him to be a better man? Because I can’t think of any other way to change what happened.”

Shaking with anger, she takes a couple of steps towards him. “How dare you mock me in my own house? First you wipe out my family and now this?”

Maybe it’s her white hair that causes Frank to feel a pinch of shame, before remembering that this tiny little creature is the one who sent the Russian to kill him. “I’m not gonna apologize for busting a cap in your son’s head, not even gonna pretend I’m sorry. He deserved what he got.”

Ma Gnucci quickly closes the distance between them, her mouth open in a soundless shriek. Frank doesn’t think to back off or block her, petite as she is, until he feels a jab to his side, just below his ribcage. Only after she’s pulled back does he notice the letter opener in her hand, small beads of his blood dripping off its blade down to the white marble floor. “That’s gonna leave a stain, just so you know,” he tells her and takes the letter opener from her, making the triumphant look vanish from her face.

“Why won’t you die?” she mumbles.

“You know, I’ve asked myself that question,” says Frank, wincing, because that stab wound hurts a lot more than he’d have hoped. “Guess I have something to live for.”

In an instant, she pounces on him like some feral cat, clawing and scratching and howling. His first instinct is to shove her off, but he’s afraid she might break something. He gets hold of her arms, trying to keep her claws away from his face; her fingernails have narrowly missed his eye. “Stop fighting,” Frank says calmly. “It’s over.” But she doesn’t accept defeat, she just keeps screaming at him, spitting out curses in Italian that he doesn’t really understand.

He’s just about ready to let her go, when she abruptly stops yelling, the rest of the insults she was preparing for him coming out in one strangled sound. Her eyes widen and Frank knows this isn’t a trick, there’s something seriously wrong with her. He releases her and she stumbles back, bringing her hands to her chest. Of course, that was exactly what was missing from his already heavy conscience, being the reason an old lady had a heart attack.

“Hey, you up there,” he barks and sees the maid peek her head out behind the wall. “Call 9-1-1,” he instructs and she disappears again. If he had any sense, he would have walked away immediately and let Ma Gnucci die, but Frank could never do that, even though she wanted him dead, even as blood leaks out of the wound she inflicted on him.

As she crumples down on the floor and falls to her back, wheezing, Frank lowers himself beside her. “Help should be here soon. I’d say everything’s gonna be fine, but we both know that’s bullshit,” he groans. “I’m kinda hoping I never see you again. You’ve caused me too much trouble, you know? But I’m not a complete asshole, so I’ll leave you with this. You punctured something,” he tells her. Then he gets up and turns his back to her, not sure if he imagined her smile at his admission.

The drive back to the city feels long; it’s just the blood loss, making him tired, making his eyes close on their own every now and then, but Frank has to keep going, he has to get back to Karen. He promised, he promised her, he has to do his best. That wound is nothing, he’s been pummeled, he’s been shot, he’s been tortured, he’s survived by the skin of his teeth. This can’t, this won’t be the end of him. He has cleaned up his mess and now he gets to go home. 

A wave of exhaustion overtakes him as he’s nearing her building. He forces his eyes open long enough to find his phone and give Karen a call, just in case. Just in case. Her voice fills him with warmth, making his slowed pulse pick up its pace.

“Frank? Where are you?”

“Almost- almost there,” he huffs. “You’re gonna laugh when I tell you what happened, Karen.”

“I can assure you I’m not in a laughing mood,” says Karen. “Tell me where you are.”

Frank chuckles to himself. He really wants to make her laugh too. “Karen, I got stabbed by an old lady with a letter opener.”

“What? You were stabbed?” her voice pitches up.

“By an old lady,” he repeats, “with a letter opener.”

And then the world goes black.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I implore you, go check out how Ma Gnucci dies in the comics. It's just fabulous!


	16. After

_She moves in and out the room, around in it, she folds clothes and puts them in the closet, draws the curtains open, closed, open, remembers something else she wanted to do, goes away, comes back, she keeps her hands, keeps her mind busy, a flurry of activity, a gust of wind, a spark of life._

Frank watches her through slitted eyes, wants to reach his hand out to her, tries to wake up, really wake up, but his brain refuses to sanction such a risky enterprise. He’d tell her not to worry, if his voice was anything other than a squeak stuck somewhere in the depths of his throat. He’d say mission accomplished. Instead, he dives further into sleep.

When his eyelids start fluttering again, she’s standing by the bed, absentmindedly biting her nails. He’s still half-asleep, so even in this troubled state she looks like she just walked out of a dream, dazzling and fuzzy around the edges. As the last remnants of sleep ebb away, Frank turns his head from side to side, trying to get his bearings. He knows this place, he knows this room; he’s where he’s supposed to be. Unsure if she’ll be able to hear him, he mumbles her name.

“I’m right here.” Karen leans over him instantly and strokes his forehead. “What do you need?”

Frank reaches for her other hand and squeezes her fingers, blinking slowly as the blurred outline sharpens and she comes into focus. “I’m good.”

She sits down next to him, her fingers brushing his face tenderly. “You almost crashed the van,” she tells him. “Good thing you weren’t driving like you usually do.”

His brow furrows with concern. “Anyone hurt?”

“A tree. But you don’t need to worry. If it decides to sue, your legal representation is covered,” she laughs, making his heart tingle. “So, stabbed with a letter opener, huh?”

“Ridiculous, right?”

“Kinda old-school,” she says, “but surprisingly effective, judging by how pale you looked when we got you here. You should consider burning the van, there’s too much blood in there.”

“I’ll deal with it.” Frank rubs his face and sighs. Despite everything that has happened, he feels relaxed. Is he even allowed to feel relaxed? “Where’s Matt?” Not Murdock, not Red. Just Matt. He doesn’t have to wonder if Karen has noticed the difference, as she tries to hide her grin.

“Hospital, recovering from surgery.” Karen nods. “He sends his best.” She can’t help chuckling at Frank’s raised eyebrows. “I’m paraphrasing of course,” she admits. “There might have been a mention of him kicking your ass.”

“Yeah, I’d like to see him try. He knows I can take him,” he chuckles back, rising up on his elbows. “You doing okay?”

“How do I look like I’m doing?”

Her features are calm and smooth, lips slightly curved in a smile, but Frank can see a tightness in her eyes. Sitting up, he groans. “I’m sorry.”

She waves a hand. “It’s fine, I knew what I was getting into. Maybe there’s a support group I could join, to help with the stress. Know of any groups for people in love with vigilantes?”

“Sorry, what was that?” He leans his head towards her, feeling a small smile sprout on his face as she giggles. “Could you repeat that, ma’am?”   

“Nope,” Karen says, pressing her lips together and shaking her head.

A few hours ago, Frank was at war, fighting to save his life and protect Karen, he had to cut a man’s head off and leave an old woman to die, wondering if it was too late for him, if there was too much blood on his hands, too much pleasure in shedding it to ever go back to being human; but now he’s here and all those things are justified, because his girl is laughing and he’s laughing with her and that’s human, isn’t it? The warmth of this precious moment could be nothing less.   

He puts his hands around her waist and lifts her up, drawing a surprised yelp from her as he makes her sit on his lap. He buries his face in the crook of her neck and inhales deeply, her scent making him slightly dizzy.

“Don’t pull your stitches now,” she advises, wrapping an arm around his shoulders.

“Eh, I’ll be fine.” He rubs his cheek on her skin. “I’m indestructible,” he says, because here, he really feels like he is.

Karen pushes him back. “I don’t feel comfortable with this mindset. If you’re going to go out night after night, hunting down criminals, thinking like that, guess what? Bang, you’re dead.”

“Know what I think? I think I’ll have better things to do at night,” Frank tells her, his index finger sneaking between the top two buttons of her shirt. “Might be too busy to go out at all.” He kisses her neck and feels her shiver.

“Maybe you shouldn’t be starting things you can’t finish, Castle,” she whispers over his head. “You’re in no shape to-”

“I’m in perfect shape, never been better,” he cuts her off and pops the first button open.

She places her hands on each side of his face, trying to keep her expression serious, but the corner of her mouth is twitching. “Frank, be reasonable. We should wait.”

“Oh, honey,” he grins, “I think we’ve waited long enough.” _Too long_. He rolls her to the side, hissing as his wound protests to the swift movement. It doesn’t slip past Karen of course and she opens her mouth to tell him off, but he closes it with a kiss before she can say anything, his fingers undoing the rest of the buttons.

“Frank,” Karen rasps when his lips start trailing down her neck to her breast. “Frank, I really don’t think we should be doing this.” He pulls back to look at her and his eyes are dark, so much darker than usual.

“You want me to stop, you gotta stop saying my name like that,” he says, his voice the low growl of hunger.

Karen Page is a sensible woman. She knows a man who has recently been stabbed shouldn’t exert himself, that even if he’s being stubborn and disregarding what’s best for his health, she has to be the one to put an end to the absurdity. But Frank’s skin feels so warm against hers, it’s driving sanity out the window, makes her feel like she’s drunk. His eyes both demanding and begging for something that’s already been given freely, his hand resting over her thumping heart, fingers eagerly waiting for her signal to resume their work. One word from her and it stops here.

But the only word that comes out of her lips is ‘Frank’.

***

_Are you still alive?_

_I will call your girlfriend if I have to._

_Stop being an idiot and just CALL ME._

_Karen assures me you’re alive but I’d like to hear it from you._

_GONNA BREAK THE DOOR DOWN MYSELF IF YOU DON’T CALL ME_

 

It’s not that Frank has been ignoring Curtis on purpose. He always checks the messages and thinks about replying later, but then Karen is in the room and he doesn’t feel like focusing on anything else. It’s not the threat of breaking the door down that makes him realize he’s put it off longer than he should have. On its own it would be fine, but in all capital letters it spells serious trouble; it means Curtis might actually break through the door any minute now. He types a quick text and waits for the response before putting the phone back in his pocket.

“Mind if I go see Curtis tonight?” he asks Karen, who’s sitting across from him, putting small pieces of pancake in her mouth. It has taken him a week to convince her she should be having proper breakfast, sitting down, and not shoving whole pieces of toast in her mouth as she runs out the door.

“Why would I mind? You can come and go as you please. You’re not my prisoner, Frank.” She pauses for a second, a sudden thought popping into her head. “Although, I wouldn’t mind having you chained to my bed,” she tells him and smiles wickedly.

Frank leans forward, the thought of ditching his plans with Curtis briefly crossing his mind. “Yeah, I bet you wouldn’t,” he says, almost dreamily, as he twirls a strand of her hair with his finger.

“I can do without you for one night. Go see your friend, tell him I said hi.” She stands up, grabs her bag and turns to look at him, her bottom lip pouting a bit. “Does having breakfast sitting down mean I can’t get toast for the road?”

He reaches to the counter behind him where a plate full of toast is waiting and hands her a slice. Karen smiles appreciatively, giving him a quick kiss on the lips before heading for the door. “See you later, honey,” she chimes happily and shoves the piece of toast in her mouth.

Frank starts laughing. He’s still laughing after she’s closed the door behind her, leaving him alone in the apartment. He keeps laughing when he realizes solitude has become more bearable. When he stops, his eyes fall on the pot of roses, peeking awkwardly from between the books. He observes it for a few moments, wondering why the stupid plastic plant makes him feel angry. In four long strides, he goes over to the shelf, plucks the roses from their spot and unceremoniously throws them in the trash. Then he goes out, buys Karen a small pot of fresh, living, real miniature roses –red for love- and places it on the windowsill. _Much better_ , he thinks, and _I hope she likes them_.

Some time later, he arrives at a place named Perdition, which strikes him as slightly ironic, where Curtis is already sitting at the bar, waiting for him. When their eyes meet, Curtis rolls his, half frustration, half relief. “Goddamn asshole,” he whispers angrily, as Frank takes a seat next to him. “Three weeks! I’ve been trying to reach you for three weeks, thinking something might be wrong and here you are, looking like you’ve been spending time at a spa or something.”

“Quit flirting with me, I’m taken,” Frank quips and then asks the bartender for a beer.

“Yeah, well, she can have you,” Curtis retorts. “I can finally wash my hands clean off you.”

Frank laughs. “You can’t live without me, Curt, and you know it.”

“But my life would be much easier,” he says and his shoulders shake with quiet laughter. “How are you doing?”

“I’m okay,” Frank tells him. It feels like a lie, because he isn’t just okay, he’s better than okay. He’s happy. But he doesn’t dare say it out loud. “Looking for a job, something to do with myself.”   

“I thought you had a job.”

The bartender brings him his beer and Frank thanks her, taking a quick sip and watching from the corner of his eye as she moves to the right side of the bar to talk to some other patron. Old habits die hard and the fact that he’s no longer the Punisher doesn’t mean the corresponding paranoia will go away immediately. “I did,” he nods when he’s sure she’s out of earshot. “And I’m not gonna lie, I liked it. Still do.”

“But?” asks Curtis, dragging the vowel, making the word sound like a long train of condescension. He’s enjoying it way too much.

“I don’t know, Curt,” Frank allows himself a tiny smile. “Maybe I’m getting old, you know? Maybe it’s time to settle down.”

“Is that why you’re growing that awful beard? Is it an accessory of old age?” he asks, playfully poking at Frank’s chin. “Looks like a stray cat sleeping on your face, man. Shave that thing off.”

“The beard stays,” Frank tells him in a decisive tone, eyes still warm from smiling.

“Ah, I see,” Curtis nods once. “So Karen likes beards.”

Frank feels heat rising in his cheeks, rubs his face to cover it up, clears his throat, fidgets in his seat; pretty suspicious behavior overall. Curtis bursts into laughter. “Look at you! You have it bad, don’t you?”

Is there a point in trying to deny it anymore? No, there isn’t; so he doesn’t. “Real bad, Curt.”

“Yeah, I’m not surprised,” says Curtis, a smug look painted all over his face. “Karen Page is one hell of a woman.”

_Yes, she is. Hell and heaven and everything in between._

When Frank gets home much later, opening the door with his own set of keys –so much for his stay not being permanent- all the lights are out, except from a small lamp on Karen’s nightstand. He tiptoes to the bedroom and finds her stirring in bed, blue eyes bleary from sleep as she turns to him and smiles.

“Shit, I woke you up, sorry,” he whispers, already removing items of clothing, eager to get under the covers with her.

“It’s okay,” Karen says quietly. “It wasn’t good sleep anyway. I sleep better when you’re here.”

He slides under the sheet and draws her to him, kissing her shoulder. “Sorry I’m late.”

“You’re here now. Time to rest.”

Her fingers briefly brush his jaw and she inches back, pressing her arched spine against his chest. Frank wraps an arm around her torso, enjoying the warmth as he kisses the back of her neck, and hums in agreement.

“Thank you for the flowers,” she tells him.

“You like them?”

“I love them,” Karen mumbles, her voice coming out low and small. “I love you.”

He rubs his cheek on her shoulder blade, trying very hard not to laugh. “This doesn’t count,” he whispers softly. “Gotta be fully awake when you say things like that. Can’t have you denying everything in the morning.”

“Shut up,” Karen smiles and drifts off to sleep.  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The penultimate chapter, which is short because I've been busy, but I'll try to make the finale long and rewarding. Thanks so much for sticking around and being so nice! Hope you'll enjoy this! Let me know!


	17. Ever after

Karen wouldn’t describe herself as a fixer. She’s not so sure she has suddenly become one, but at least she tries very hard to solve more problems than she causes. And there’s one problem she really wants to solve, except she has no idea how to do it. While she can deal with her own nightmares, Frank’s nightmares are very different. For one, his reactions to them are much more intense when he’s not beat up and handcuffed to a hospital bed; the first time she woke up to him twisting and shaking, she thought he was having a seizure. When he jerked awake, she could tell he didn’t recognize her immediately, his eyes haunted with somebody else’s image. He then apologized and went to sleep in the living room. Karen followed shortly after, finding him laid out on the couch, one palm over his face, and she lay on top of him, covering his body with hers. Knowing her weight would hinder his breathing wasn’t enough to stop her. “You sleep with me or you don’t sleep at all,” she said tenderly and Frank wrapped his arms around her without a word. Turns out they both slept just fine, even though they were terribly sore in the morning.

The second time, his elbow hit her ribs just as he woke up and that made him feel even more ashamed. Again, he apologized and apologized, throwing the covers off him, but Karen grabbed his arm and made him stay put. She wished more than anything that she could wipe those ugly memories from his mind, offer him peace. Since that was impossible, she opted for holding him tight as his breathing slowed, making sure he had fallen asleep before closing her eyes too.

The third time, Karen was prepared. She recognized the signs; the way his fingers twitched, the unintelligible mumbling. She snaked her arm over Frank’s chest, hooking her hand on his shoulder and held him down, like an anchor. She couldn’t see his face when he whispered her name, but she knew he was awake. “I’m here,” she said and Frank reached for the hand on his shoulder. He must have found some comfort there because he fell asleep immediately after that.

Seeing the effect, Karen decided to keep this practice up until the nightmares started coming less often, until they stopped altogether. Luckily, it didn’t take that long. Frank still has bad dreams, but they don’t torment him the way they used to. Encouraged by this victory, she contemplates what other things she could fix.        

So, for about four months, Karen carefully watches Frank, sometimes even taking notes as he moves around the apartment. She knows he feels comfortable there with her, but he’s very apprehensive of the space he occupies, almost like he doesn’t want to bother her. His books have been lying in a pile by the bed for some time now – _won’t move them unless explicitly told_. So Karen reminds him there’s a bookcase in the living room and the pile gets a little shorter each day after that.

There’s one thing she has to make plain though, otherwise it will hover between them forever - that he can put the photo of his family anywhere he’d like, she doesn’t mind, she would even be glad to have it displayed. This is something he needs to know.

“I’d rather not,” Frank says, taking her hand in his and kissing it. “But thank you.”

When he buys any new clothes, he still tries to fit them in his bag – _make room in the closet, make sure he sees_. She quietly does, emptying a couple of drawers in her dresser for him as well. He takes the hint quickly, but a full week has to pass before he actually does anything about it. Karen is immensely relieved when she comes home one day to find the bag hollowed out, folded in two and dumped at the bottom of the closet, and Frank’s clothes neatly put away in the efficient style of a soldier.

That’s the strange thing she finds out about Frank, he’s always very neat, never leaves a mess -in his day to day life at least, because she’s had personal experience with the messes he’s made in the past. He never leaves the kitchen cluttered and dirty; there’s hardly a drop of water by the sink when he’s done. Same with the bathroom, especially after a shower. She can only tell he’s been in there by the smell of his body wash and she has to wonder if he’ll ever get careless enough to leave a wet towel on the floor or something. Not that she wants that to happen, but it wouldn’t be the worst thing in the world.

It’s also nice to see others acknowledge and accept the space he occupies in her life. Matt is easy, too easy, looks like he was expecting the news and, honestly, he looks a bit too pleased for someone whose dislike of Frank was accompanied by the burning passion of religious righteousness not too long ago. “Would you say it was fated to happen?” he asks, laughing to himself.

“I don’t know, but you getting thrown out of a window is definitely in the cards,” Karen responds, more amused than annoyed.

“You wouldn’t hurt a blind man, would you?”

“Try me,” she warns and then they both start laughing.

But Foggy is a whole other deal.

“I knew it,” he throws his hands up in the air. “That’s the demented cherry on top of your crazy cake, Karen. You understand that, right?”

“Yes, dear,” she mocks, smiling as she waits for his freak-out to blow over.

“Don’t you ‘yes, dear’ me, young lady,” Foggy says and immediately realizes how ridiculous he sounds. “Oh god, is this what raising children feels like? Am I the responsible adult now? I’m not ready for any of this.” He runs a hand through his hair, takes a deep breath, relaxes his shoulders. “Karen,” he says and pauses. “Karen…”

She doesn’t bother with excuses about Frank not being the Punisher anymore. Whether he is or he isn’t doesn’t matter; in fact, it’s completely irrelevant. Frank is Frank, rough and soft, imperfect and flawless, and she loves him and she’ll defend him tooth and claw and that’s all there is to it. “I love him, Foggy. Not ‘anyway’, not ‘in spite of’. I just love him.” Karen shrugs. “We’re kind of a package deal. Take it or leave it.”

“I want to state, for the record, you are completely, undeniably insane,” he says, waving a finger close to her face. “I’ll be watching like a hawk, Karen. If he makes one wrong move, if I see one tear rolling down that alabaster skin of yours, the Punisher is toast.”

“My hero,” Karen laughs.  

The first couple of times he visits _their_ apartment, Foggy’s stance is defensive and twitchy; he takes a step back when Frank tries to give him a handshake. Frank gets it, he really does, so he lets the man take his time. He used to think of Nelson as a nuisance, a jittery, small person of no importance, but he’s been proven wrong again and again. There’s a bite to him that he has come to respect. Given time, Frank knows he could win Nelson over, have him say more than just ‘hi’ and ‘bye’ as he scurries away. It’s a slow process, but one fine day, Foggy drops by for coffee, his shoulders free of tension as Frank casually greets him by patting his arm.

“What do you do these days anyway?” he asks.

“I work construction.”

“Building or demolishing?” Foggy’s brows are knit together, eyes narrowed in a way that reveals the question isn’t as innocent as it seems.

“Can’t have one without the other,” Frank grins. “Out with the old, in with the new, right?”

“Yeah, I guess that’s true,” Foggy finally concedes. His tolerance of Frank’s presence increases significantly after that. So much so that, if he’s not careful, it might begin to resemble fondness.

That night, Frank gets into bed next to her and Karen can tell he feels very pleased with his achievement. His small smile is more mischievous than usual as he kisses her cheek, and she raises her arm, letting him nestle up against her, his head coming to rest on her collarbone; but he says nothing.

“Aren’t you going to gloat about your glorious triumph?” Karen asks.

“Don’t have to,” he says,” you’re doing it for me.” His head bobs up and down as he laughs. “So am I part of the pack now?”

“There’s no pack,” she replies. “But if there were, would we need more than two members?”

“That sounds pretty exclusive.” Frank lets out a dry chuckle. “So you wouldn’t do anything in your power to protect these friends of yours, keep them from harm?”

“Of course I would. Matt may be Daredevil, but on his own, he could very easily get… lost. He needs to be reminded he’s only human, sometimes. And Foggy…” She inhales sharply. “I can’t imagine what I’d do without them.”

He reaches up to cup her cheek and she looks down to him. “Pack,” he says, “family, call it what you want. I don’t mind that you guys are so close. Matter of fact, I admire it. And I want in.”

“What do you call this then?” Karen looks at him curiously. “We’re sharing a bed, sharing a life. Can’t get more in than that.”

Warmed by her words, Frank brushes his lips against hers, enjoying her soft sigh. She always makes that sound when he kisses her, he’s noticed and now he anticipates it. “I’ll figure something out,” he tells her.

“Why are you acting so weird?”

“Would you have me false to my nature?” Frank replies, amused.

“I thought we talked about you quoting Shakespeare at me.” Her eyebrow reaches for the ceiling. “It has to stop, Frank,” she feigns a wail, the beginning of laughter tickling her throat.

“Never.”

***

One evening, going over paperwork with Foggy, folders spread all over the living room, she hears Frank come in, but she’s too focused on her document to look up. Foggy mumbles a quick hello to Frank’s greeting and then, with more intensity, says “Whoa, do I want to know what happened there or is it classified?” Karen’s head snaps up, eyes wide before she even knows what she’s looking for, but the large bump over his left eyebrow isn’t easy to miss. His eye is swollen shut and she can almost see the skin around it turning from blue to purple as he stands there. “Occupational injury,” he says simply.

“What the hell, Frank?” she yells and runs to him. “What happened?”

“Part of the ceiling collapsed.” He seems surprised at her reaction.

“On your face? Isn’t that what hard hats are for?”

“Yeah, but when you’re knocked down, facing up, there’s not much a hard hat can do,” he explains circumspectly.

“Well, maybe don’t get knocked down next time!”

Karen’s voice keeps rising and rising and she doesn’t like how it sounds. The two men are looking at her as though she were a ticking bomb, counting down much more quickly because someone cut the red wire by accident. Frank takes a tentative step towards her and slowly reaches for her arm. “I should go,” Foggy mumbles and grabs his things, heading for the door as Frank nods, his eyes never leaving Karen’s face. When Foggy closes the door behind him, Frank pulls her closer and she stumbles into his arms.

“You’ve seen me look much worse,” he says in a soothing tone.

“Was it really an accident?” Karen asks.

“You think I’m lying to you?” He looks hurt, really genuinely hurt. “We agreed on one thing, Karen. No lying.”

She nods, because he’s right and she trusts him. If he says he got hurt at work, he got hurt at work.

“What’s gotten into you?” he asks her again, rubbing circles on her back.

“I don’t know,” she breathes into his neck. “It’s been a while since… Things have been so normal for so long and seeing you like this threw me off, I guess.”

“I’m not gonna screw things up, Karen. Never again, you got that?” His arms tighten around her for a few moments and then he pulls back to look at her. “You don’t have to worry anymore.”

Karen catches a loose tear off the corner of her eye, making an attempt at smiling. “Apparently I do, if you’re going to lie down and let rubble smash into your face.”

He rubs his beard and chuckles. “I wasn’t lying down.”

“Are you sure? You wouldn’t have let part of a ceiling defeat you before,” she says. The more she teases him, the more tension is dispelled. “Seems to me like you’ve gone soft, Castle.”

Frank draws a deep breath and leans in, brushing his nose to hers. Then he bends her head back slightly and places a tender kiss on her lips. “Ain’t nothing wrong with being soft,” he tells her afterwards.  

On the day that marks a total of twelve months they’ve been living together, Karen (who has definitely not circled the date on her planner, because that’s childish and weird, and that’s exactly what she will say if anyone asks) considers making the effort of cooking something special, going over a list of recipes that wouldn’t take more than an hour to prepare, when she hears keys jingling outside the door. She was kind of hoping Frank would return a bit later from his visit to Curtis, give her time to collect herself, but it doesn’t matter. As fun as being holed up at home with him is, maybe they could go out for dinner tonight. Extra special.

“Hello!” Her greeting is a little too jovial.

Frank smiles briefly and leaves his keys on the kitchen isle, something he doesn’t usually go for because he prefers keeping them in the pocket of his jacket. The keychain looks different. “I did a strange thing today,” he tells her and rubs his beard in obvious awkwardness. It only takes a few moments for him to walk around the couch and sit across from her, but it somehow feels like an hour. He settles down, crosses his hands together and sighs.

“Uh-oh. Should I be scared?” Karen asks.

“Maybe a little,” he laughs. “Curt has this friend who’s selling his house. He drove me there to see it.”

Her pulse speeds up a little. “I didn’t know you were interested in buying property,” she tries to sound calm. “I mean, can you even afford a house?”

Frank tilts his head slightly and narrows his eyes at her. “I have some money from before, rainy day fund. More of a rainstorm fund actually, a decent amount.”

Karen contemplates the benefits of remaining civil. There sure are several. She nods, lowering her eyes. “Are you going to take it?”

“I kinda need your opinion first,” he says and she looks back up at him, puzzled. “You seriously thought…” He gets up and goes to sit beside her, placing one hand on her waist and wrapping the other around the back of her neck. “Come on, Karen, you know I couldn’t go anywhere without you. You know I’m here for the long haul.”

“In my defense, you chose a weird way to tell me,” she replies and slaps his arm playfully. “I didn’t even know you wanted to move.”

“I didn’t.” He kisses her cheek. “Until I saw the place.”

Karen hadn’t thought about moving either. Being a single woman in New York has trained her to thrive in small spaces. This apartment isn’t exactly small, it’s not big either, but it is adequate and the rent is affordable. But she is no longer single and she often catches herself not being satisfied with things that are simply adequate. So many changes, so many surprises. She hopes they can survive them. “That good?” she asks, feeling a surge of excitement rising in her like a wave.

“We can go have a look at it together and then you tell me if you think it’s any good.”

“What? Now?”

“Sure, we can go now.” Frank gets up and gives her his hand, pulling her up and Karen runs to grab his car keys. “Uh, no. You ain’t driving,” he says, gently removes the keys from her palm and chuckles. “You’re going to drive us into a wall the way you’re shaking.”

“I can’t help it, I’m too excited,” she says and slides her arms around his shoulders, tangling her fingers together behind his neck. “Where is it?”

“Suburbs.”

A bit shocked, Karen brings both hands up to her face to cover her mouth. “Oh, no. Frank, are we burb people?”

Frank shrugs one shoulder. “We could be.”

The drive is not long, just a little over an hour, not counting traffic delays. Karen begins a quick-fire round of questions, most of which she doesn’t give Frank a chance to answer, gesturing enthusiastically the whole time. She was never really into gardens, she tells him, but she wouldn’t mind tending to a few colorful, fragrant plants, if he likes the idea. “I’ll take care of the plants, don’t you worry,” he says and it sounds final, like the place is already theirs and the next step is picking out furniture. She doesn’t even know if she likes it yet, but doing this with Frank feels right. Her stomach clenches, but not with anxiety; not just anxiety at least.

“It’s a big step, Karen,” he tells her in a low voice.

“I don’t think you and I deal in small steps. We’ve been living together for almost a year-”

“Exactly one year,” he corrects and her heart does a little flip.

“My point is,” she smiles, “this doesn’t feel scary, you know?”

“Yeah, I know,” Frank smiles back.

When they get out of the car and she finally sees the house, she can’t stifle a small gasp. The exterior is simple but beautiful, inviting even, the kind of place that beckons to you to settle there. Frank opens the front door for her and she walks in, her imagination taking action as soon as he flips the light switch. As though walking in a dream, she sees herself coming back here after a long day of work, Frank sitting in an armchair by the cute little fireplace with a book in his hands, as she slips out of her heels; it almost breaks her heart. The last time she lived in a house, all the warmth had gone from it, making her forsake living in any house, ever. But this is different. Frank will be here and that’s all she needs. She turns around to look at him, eyes shining.

“Can you see yourself living here?” he asks. A glance at her face tells him all he needs to know. “It’s pretty cozy.”

“Show me the rest.”

He takes her on a short tour; kitchen, back yard, then upstairs, first assuring and then showing her that the bedroom is big enough for her beloved bed, coming to a stop outside one of the smaller rooms, where his eyes light up. “Thought this could be like your study or something,” he tells her as he pushes the door open. “You could have a real desk and a chair, you know, instead of hunching over the kitchen isle. It hurts my back just to see you doing that.”

Karen strokes his cheek and takes a look inside. “Yup, I can definitely see myself working here. I’d better start saving for a ridiculously expensive chair.” She laughs and kisses him. “What’s over there?”   

She opens the door next to it and immediately regrets it. This room used to be occupied by children, clearly illustrated by the tiny little chairs and the few toys scattered on the floor. If she’s being honest with herself, Karen has to admit that she’s looking forward to adding a third resident to this house. None of the men she’s dated before have made her feel this way, but Frank makes her feel all sorts of things, this terrible need included. He was a good dad and, no matter what he thinks, she knows he could be a good dad again. But he wouldn’t want to, would he? Karen’s stomach clenches once more and she looks to Frank. He doesn’t seem distressed, but he does hang his head before reaching for her hand and leading her down the stairs. The beautiful fantasy in her head starts fading away.

“So, what do you think?” he asks when they’re back in the living room.

“It’s a big house, Frank,” she tells him. “I love every corner of it but…”

“We don’t have to move, it’s okay,” Frank says and the dismay in his voice is deafening, as he moves closer to rub her arm. “It’s okay, Karen. I won’t make you do anything you don’t feel like doing. We have a nice apartment anyway.” 

“Can we… Can we just take a moment to think?”

“Sure.”

“This house is meant for a family,” Karen shakes her head. “As much as I’d love to have my own space to work, as gorgeous as that damn kitchen is, there are too many rooms for just two people to live here.”

He exhales slowly, runs a hand through his hair and nods. “Yeah, I noticed,” he says in one breath. “Look, we don’t have to fill the place with kids. We could get a bunch of dogs, you know, or cats. Shit, I don’t even know if you’re a dog or cat person, never thought to ask…”

“Frank…” She bites her lip. “I’m late.”

“For what?” he asks, looking confused.

“Frank.” Her mouth forms a thin line, partly urging him to understand, partly to detract from the fact that her bottom lip is starting to tremble.

The realization hits him. There’s a beat, one more and then another, before he rubs a hand over his mouth. “Shit…” Then he starts pacing up and down, left and right, pausing for a second to look at her, eyes wide and wild. “Are you serious?” She nods and he brings his hands to his head, tugging at his hair while he resumes his frantic movement. “Shit, shit, shit.” Karen is about to start crying when he rushes to her, grabs her by the arms and presses his lips to hers. “Hey, don’t cry, okay?” he says with a shaky voice. “If this isn’t something you want, we’ll deal with it together.”

“Me? I’m not the one running around, chanting ‘shit’, Frank!” she raises her voice, wiping tears from her cheeks. “There are other words in the English language to express your disappointment!”

“Disappointment?” Frank says, the corners of his mouth curving into a hesitant smile. “My heart’s ready to jump out of my throat. Doesn’t seem like disappointment to me.”

Frustrated, Karen turns her head to the ceiling. “We really have to work on our communication,” she groans.

“We’re having an off day, it happens.” He gives her a quick peck on the lips, runs his hands down her hair, places his palms on each side of her face and kisses her again. “Just tell me what you want. Whatever it is, I’ll do it. I’ll walk through broken glass if you ask me to.”

“God, again with the suffering,” she mutters.

“Karen, it would be my pleasure.”

Uncertain if he’s referring to broken glass or the possible pregnancy, she realizes she has never seen him look this happy before. His expression is subtle, as usual, but his eyes are beaming. When she said she wanted an after for him, this wasn’t what she envisioned and yet, it’s what they’re getting. It goes beyond her wildest dreams. It makes something begin to stir inside her, a hopeful essence that stretches and spreads through her veins. “I didn’t think you’d want kids.”

“I didn’t want anything, before you came along,” Frank tells her and his voice is as sweet as honey. “I’m ready to give up, you kick my ass forward. You push me to my limits, see how far I can go. I figured I can go very far, Karen. With you.”

“Me too,” Karen nods and cracks a smile. “But I kind of assumed you’d be angry or, I don’t know, scared maybe.”

“Oh, I’m plenty scared,” he laughs. “And so are you. But we got each other’s backs, right?”

“Of course.”

“So what can go wrong?” he says and wraps her in a tight hug, kissing her temple.

“But this doesn’t mean anything, I haven’t even taken a test yet,” she informs him. “What if it turns out to be nothing at all?”

“Then it turns out to be nothing and we see where we go from there,” Frank sighs against her cheek. “First things first, you want to live here?”

Karen takes a moment to think about it, but she knows the answer already. “Damn it, Frank, how did we come to be burb people?” she giggles.

“So we’re buying a house,” he gives her a smile that overflows with affection, softly swaying her in his arms.

“Hell yeah!”

As they walk back to the car, Karen pauses and takes a last look at the house that is going to be theirs, if nobody else beats them to it at least. This is it. This is where they’ll raise their kids or their dogs or whatever creature they feel like bringing into their life. This is where they will round up their friends, invite them over for dinner or drinks, gatherings that will stretch out into the small hours of the morning. This is where they’ll fight and laugh and be happy; this is where they’ll grow old together. It feels right, it feels like home already. If her heart could burst from joy, it would do so right here and now, as Frank’s arms slide around her waist, his lips pressing gentle kisses to the back of her neck.

The drive back is different. Karen’s excitement hasn’t melted away, but it’s settled into something else, something serene which can’t exactly be put into words. Frank steals glances at her, but his eyes are fixed on the road for the most part. She leans against his arm and sighs in satisfaction, before turning on the radio.

“Huh, I never pegged you as a Billy Joel fan,” she remarks.

“Yeah, that’s because I’m not. Not really.”

“Then that’s an odd choice of music,” she says, even though the song is mellow and pleasant. “This doesn’t have anything to do with Matt’s reflections on love and fate, does it?”

“No,” Frank huffs, looking like he might be blushing under his beard, just as the language of the song changes.

“Is this…” Karen straightens up. “This is French. Frank, have you taken up French?”

“Eh, I thought about it,” Frank looks straight ahead, carefully avoiding glancing in her direction and shrugs. “Gotta be prepared for anything, right?”

She stares at him wide-eyed for a moment and then, before she can prevent it, laughter starts pouring out of her. She laughs and laughs and feels like she will never stop, her heart expanding more than she ever thought possible.

“I love you, you big, scary man,” she says after catching her breath, planting a loud, smacking kiss on his cheek.

“Can’t be that scary, if you can laugh at me like that,” Frank chuckles.

Karen leans back in her seat, feeling like the smile on her face has been permanently carved there, as she wonders if the surprises will ever cease.

God, she hopes they never do.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fin!
> 
> I wrote an actual happy ending, I'm so proud of myself.  
> Thank you all for the support and the kind words! Hope you have fun and let me know how you/if like this!


End file.
